Sin of the Father
by lefcadio
Summary: Post series, Albert x Eugénie. Albert returns to France to find that things aren't as they should be. Is Andrea Cavalcanti really content to stay out of their lives? Epilogue still to come!
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: Made up of 8 parts + epilogue. Written during Nov for NaNoWriMo 2005. Already complete; not a WIP. Further chapters will be added promptly as I go through and edit/check it. :)

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He wondered if the rain would ever stop. Thick droplets lashed viciously against the carriage's windows, heavy and rhythmic, like the steady beat of a thousand drums. It was only early afternoon, but with the amount of light which was managing to creep through the barrier of storm clouds, it could easily have been dusk. Albert de Morcerf was a patient man, though it had not always been so. The current weather meant that they had been making very little progress all day - but, for the moment, he knew that it did not really matter. Albert set aside the book he had been reading, and turned to peer outside the window for a moment. Through the sheets of water sluicing against the panes, he could vaguely make out some farmland and trees; evidently they were still in a very rural part of the country, so he supposed there was little chance of them finding somewhere to stop. He sighed, and returned to his book.

Perhaps inevitably, the past few years had changed Albert. He was no longer the same impulsive, reckless boy who wore his heart on his sleeve that he had been... before. He had studied, and read, and tried to better himself. He had learned introspection, and of the quiet solace that one can find in music and books.

But perhaps, he mused, as the carriage steadily wound its way through the French countryside towards Marseille, in many ways he was still exactly the same.

It wasn't until dawn broke the next day that the first hints of Marseille appeared upon the horizon. Albert awoke with a start and peered out of the window curiously, rubbing at his temples with the weary resignation of one who is used to this kind of travel. His fatigue was short lived, though; every trace of the previous day's storm had vanished, and in the distance he could see the large expanse of sparkling blue sea stretching out to meet with the sky.

"Camille!" Albert called, momentarily overjoyed. He reached out to fumble with the handle on the door, pushing it open as the carriage continued to trundle sedately along. Holding onto the sides firmly, Albert stepped out into the wind, the breeze whipping at his hair and shirt as he made his way along the side of the carriage to the front. He sat himself down beside his driver with a sigh of relief, leaning back and closing his eyes for a moment as he let the cool, refreshing sea wind wash over him.

"Er... Monsieur--"

"Look, Camille," Albert cracked open an eyelid and glanced over at his young driver, who could hardly have been more than five years younger than himself, "I've told you before: please, just call me Albert." This seemed to pain Camille, who blushed and deliberated for a moment before finally nodding. Albert sat up, at last fully awake: he gazed solemnly at the town in the distance, blue eyes filled with a conflicting mixture of anticipation, happiness, and sorrow.

_It's been too long._ He thought wistfully, shutting his eyes and inhaling the salty twang of the air. _Far too long_.

-----

The outskirts of the coastal town were tranquil at this early hour; the horses of Albert's carriage slowed to a casual canter, and whinnied in appreciation of the easy pace and fine weather. The roads they travelled down were not overly familiar to the young man - he had been here only once before, even though through his mother he felt like he should know it so much better. And perhaps in some ways he did - there was an imaginary Marseille in his mind, built on from a young age, inspired by the beautiful scenery that resided in the background of the portrait of his mother that he had once kept in his room. He'd walked those homely streets so often in his imagination; played on the beaches with his parents, as they'd picnicked and laughed in the warm sun.

But that had always been wishful thinking, and this was the reality: shabby streets, heavily cobbled. Shuttered houses and cracked walls, and a strange smell in the air. But as they rounded the corner of the Rue Montgrand, Albert felt is heart lift: with the sea now in view and the distant screeching of seagulls, Marseille came into its own. The chilly breeze made the multicoloured washing hanging on lines dance; the sounds of the breaking waves upon the coastal rocks were strangely soothing, and the rickety red rooftops which spattered the town seemed to glow in the bright sunlight as though they were on fire. This town, Albert decided, breathing deeply, was definitely one with character.

Memories stirred. "Turn up towards that hill," he said, trying to keep his voice light. Camille did as instructed, and they began the ascent. As they made their way up, Albert found he could look down on the town below them; the bustling harbour, the golden beaches, the town square. He preferred to keep his gaze down rather than look up at their destination, though he couldn't quite say why. His stomach felt strangely heavy, and he gazed wordlessly up into the clear blue sky until the carriage finally pulled to a stop.

"You didn't say, but..." Camille trailed off and half shrugged looking a little anxious. Albert forced a smile to his face and nodded, before leaping down from his impromptu seat to the grassy verge below.

"Thank you, this is the place. I'll probably be a couple of hours." He inclined his head at the thoughtful looking driver, and turned to face the small, winding footpath which led up and away from the outskirts of town.

Although the weather was fine, Albert now felt the cold more acutely than he had earlier; he wrapped his jacket tightly around himself and continued on against the wind. It was not long until a small, run-down church came into view. Albert couldn't help but freeze when he saw it; his mouth became dry and he swallowed with difficulty; his heart felt as though it were gripped by an icy hand. There were a few trees scattered around, but it was not a beautiful area. He took a step forward, and his breathing hitched slightly as several tombstones finally became apparent, nestled among the long grass. They were dark and mossy, and the sun which was beginning to move overhead highlighted their spidery cracks.

"Father..." he whispered, a solitary figure in the abandoned graveyard, silhouetted against the horizon. "C-count..." his voice faltered, and though he felt the pain in his heart acutely, he did not cry.

Later, he would not be able to remember how long it was that he stood there, motionless, staring at the row of graves. When he finally stirred, and moved to kneel beside them, though, the sun was nearly peaking in the sky. As it turned out, they were perhaps not as abandoned as he had previously thought; a small, neat bunch of white flowers lay at the foot of two of the headstones. Of course. Albert smiled, though his expression was full of sorrow. _Mother…_

"Father," Albert leaned forward, pressing his hands into the soft dirt, moisture from the ground soaking his trousers at the knee, "it's me. I've come back." The wind picked up speed, but Albert did not move. "I've been gone quite a long time. Travelling, mostly. Studying. Teaching myself things that I could never have learned if I'd stayed back in Paris. And... I couldn't. Couldn't have stayed there, I mean." He bowed his head, hair falling into his eyes, "not after everything..."

For a while, silence reigned, broken only by the occasional seagull, or gust of wind rustling the trees.

"It was probably cowardly of me, but, I did what I could. What I thought was best. I don't blame you, and I hope you know that." His mouth twisted suddenly and he stood up, eyes tightly shut, "but, Count..."

He turned and faced another of the graves, the one which read: _Edmond Dantés_.

"I..." Albert's voice caught in his throat, and he buried his face in his hands, taking a deep breath, "I always wanted you to know... wanted you to know how much you meant to me. I truly believed in the friendship that we had, just as I truly believed in you. And... as much as I regret the way that things turned out, I'm still so honoured that you showed me your true self." He scrubbed at his eyes with his jacket sleeve, and smiled. "I went travelling, you know. All the things you told me; all the things you'd done - it made me admire you so much. I wanted to go to all those places for myself - and now I have - or, some of them, at least." He crouched down and placed his hands on the grassy earth before the headstone.

"I wish..." he began, voice low, "I wish that Franz had been there with me; he would have adored it all. Sometimes I would still find myself turning around, expecting him to be there. But... I don't blame you for that. More than anyone," Albert said bitterly, "I blame myself. And Franz, too, for being so stupidly noble and selfishly self-sacrificing." He paused, for a moment then pain still as fresh and uncontrollable as that fateful birthday morning those years ago. "Every day, " he whispered "every day I still wake up and wish that he was here with me still. But I lost you both, and I blame myself."

Albert frowned, voice trailing off as he stood up. He felt empty inside; though the weather was calm and bright, he felt as though he had accomplished nothing. This felt pointless, somehow. And wrong, as though he shouldn't be here. He surveyed the lonely mounds in front of him one last time in farewell, before turning away resolutely.

"It'll all be okay one day, right, Count?" Albert murmured softly, as he walked out of the small graveyard, "as long as I make sure I wait... and hope..."

----------

Albert did not immediately return to his carriage; settling himself beneath a tree further down the slope, he paused to consider his current situation. What exactly was he here for? What was it that he hoped to achieve? His hunched shoulders were covered in dappled sunlight as he stared at the ground, biting his lower lip. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he didn't really know. However, the visit to the graveyard was not the only part of his trip; of course, he couldn't possibly come all the way to Marseille without dropping in on Maximilien and Valentine. Albert drew his knees up and hugged them to his chest, smiling softly. He had missed them, truly - and it had been so very long since they'd last met. It amused him that he found it so strange to imagine them married - as they surely must be - since Albert remembered them as awkward teenagers, when they were barely sure about whether it was appropriate for them to speak to one another.

He likes to think about those days; about the early parts of that summer, when everything still felt so normal. When it felt like they had all the time and opportunities in the world... before everything started to come crashing down. Of course, Albert thinks bitterly, at the time he never appreciated what he had; he was just another bored young aristocrat, desperate for some excitement or meaning in his life. Albert leans back against the weathered tree trunk and stares up at the sky; it's beginning to cloud over, and he knows he should probably go back soon.

But he can't quite bring himself to leave just yet. Even though, in many ways, he can't help but wish that that fateful summer had never taken place, there's a part of him that would never want to give up the relationship he had forged with the Count. He frequently wonders, these days, what kind of person he'd be if the Count had never come into his life. After all---

"Monsieur..." Albert's reverie was interrupted by the quiet, concerned tones of Camille who hovered uncertainly in front of him, "are you quite alright?"

Albert blinked in surprise and gazed up at the driver, "of course... why wouldn't I be? Has something happened?" He glanced around quickly as if something urgent might suddenly appear, but Camille was shaking his head and looking embarrassed.

"No, no... it's just, you said you would only be gone for a couple of hours, so I was getting a little worried."

Albert looked down at his watch and blanched; it was now gone midday. "Ahh, I'm sorry - I completely lost track of time..." He stood up and stretched with a yawn, then dusted himself off. "I must look a mess," he said with a rueful smile, tugging at his crumpled jacket with one hand, and gesturing at his muddy trousers with the other, "how am I supposed to go and call on the Morrells looking like this?"

"Not to worry," Camille said noncommittally, expression blank, though his eyes looked amused, "you look as neat as usual." Albert laughed and stuck his hands in his pockets, before striding forward to head back to the carriage.

"Well," he said haughtily as they walked, eyes narrowed in mock seriousness, "I'd like to think I have a _little_ more self respect than that! But," he sighed, "I suppose there's not much that can be done. It's hardly as though Maximilien and Valentine would mind, but still..."

"Have you known them long, then?" Camille asked curiously: he did not know much about Albert's past, since the other man rarely talked of it. "If you don't mind my asking, of course." Albert shook his head and looked at the approaching town. Somewhere down there, his friends would have been living happily for years; they would be settled, content. Have roots, and a real home with Monsieur Noirtier and the other Morrells, most likely.

"No, it's fine. I haven't seen them for over five years," he looked a little sad, and kicked a stone along the uneven path, "and I did not know Maximilien for very long - only a few months - though he came to be a good friend even in that short period. Valentine I have known longer - though for a while we did not talk very much; she was engaged to my best friend, and he... did not appreciate the arrangement. But we were all so happy when Maximilien and Valentine found each other." He grinned and gave a little shrug, "so it'll be nice to see them again."

"What about your best friend?" Camille inquired, jumping up into the front seat as they finally arrived back at the carriage, "did he manage to get an engagement he wanted?"

Albert froze, one foot on the step under the door. His hand clenched around the door handle, and when he spoke, his voice was low and quiet. "No. He didn't-- he didn't ever seem interested in getting married," his throat tightened and he choked out the rest, "but that doesn't even matter now, because he's dead." Camille looked stricken and mumbled an apology, while Albert disappeared inside the carriage and slammed the door.

The journey to the Morrells' house did not take very long; they wound their way through various streets, and even passed the busy harbour - but Albert found that he wasn't in the mood to marvel at it now. After about twenty minutes, they pulled up outside the large, weathered house which belonged to Maximilien and his family. Albert looked down at himself again and winced; what would they think of him? It looked as though he had been sleeping rough! Alas, there was nothing to be done. He swung open the door and leaped to the ground, inordinately glad that the weather was still holding out, even though the clouds did seem to be gathering ominously on the horizon once more. A storm in a harbour town like Marseille could be a vicious thing.

Albert approached the large oaken doors and took a deep breath, gazing up at the engraved stonework which surrounded the frame. He knew that he had no real reason to feel nervous, but that, mixed with the inevitable anticipation, made his stomach twist and turn. He raised a hand, and pressed the inconspicuous doorbell which resided in a small nook to the right of the huge doors.

Silence. He waited, shifting from foot to foot with his hands in his pockets, feeling like he was fifteen again. Eventually, just as he was considering ringing the bell again, he heard heavy footsteps approaching the door from inside, and muffled voices. With a painful creak, the heavy right half of the door swung open, to reveal an older - and definitely more distinguished-looking Maximilien.

"Albert!" Maximilien's face broke out into a grin - and though he was clearly surprised, the fact that he was genuinely pleased to see him was obvious. "Valentine, come through; Albert's here!" He gestured enthusiastically for Albert to come in, pausing for a moment as he noticed the carriage outside. "Of course - your driver knows to go around the back, yes? The other staff will see to him."

Albert nodded, and signalled for Camille to do as the ex-soldier had instructed. Entering the building, Maximilien grabbed his hand and shook it warmly, Albert smiling as he noted that Maximilien's grip was as strong as ever. The door swung shut with a solid 'click', and despite the door being so large and opaque, the entrance hall still managed to look light and airy.

"Maximilien; it's so good to see you again!" Albert said fervently, his grin widening as he noticed a familiar figure entering the hallway from the other end, "and Valentine!" His eyes widened in surprise as she hurried over - she was wearing large, light dresses these days it seemed, her stomach large and round. Albert's smile softened as she approached him and took his hands in hers; her skin was soft and warm, and she gazed at him happily.

"Albert, it's so lovely to have you here," she murmured, leading him away from the door. "Come, we must take tea, and talk."

Albert was led by the couple into a drawing room which was connected to the hallway via a thin, cool corridor. The room was not large, but still managed to give the impression being spacious; sparsely but tastefully furnished, with big windows draped in lace on the wall opposite the fireplace.

"Please, do take a seat," Valentine said gently, "I'll be back shortly." Albert nodded, and followed Maximilien to the armchairs arranged around a long, low table. One thing that did immediately strike Albert, though, was the silence. He had not imagined it to be so quiet in the Morrell house - where was Maximilien's niece and nephew? And, for that matter, where was Monsieur Noirtier? He was interrupted in his train of thought by Maximilien striking up a long overdue conversation.

"So, Albert - what have you been doing these past few years? We were beginning to wonder when we'd ever see you again - no one had heard from you in quite a while..." Albert laughed softly, a little embarrassed.

"I know, I know - it was awful of me, but I had a phase of being a little self-absorbed. I've been travelling, mostly - that and studying. I've just been trying to work out what I want to do with my life - decide where I want to end up," he sighed, smiling ruefully and resting his head on one hand, "I've missed everyone, you know. It got to a certain point, and I thought... I can't do this forever. I wanted to see you all again."

Maximilien chuckled, and nodded, "Yes. It's been a strange few years... everyone's become so fragmented. I haven't even seen Chateau-Renaud in about a year, but I suppose that's what's to be expected ever since most of us moved away from Paris."

"Mm." Albert tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin, "I suppose so. You and Valentine seem so happy though; I'm glad."

Maximilien inclined his head and blushed a little, "thank you."

"Oh! And of course - congratulations," he grinned and raised an eyebrow, "so when's it due? And - for that matter - when did the two of you get married? I can't believe that I missed it." Albert's face fell a little after this realisation, and Maximilien looked regretful.

"I know, I'm sorry - we tried to get in contact with you, but no-one seemed to have your contact details at the time. Those addresses and numbers that we did try all turned out to be dead ends." He placed a hand on Albert's shoulder and smiled, "I know that you would have come if you could, though, Albert. It was only a quiet wedding, really - we have some photos somewhere if you'd like to see."

Albert nodded immediately, face brightening, "that would be great, thanks - of course, it won't come close to having actually been there, but it would still be nice." At that moment, the door on the far side of the room quietly swung open, and Valentine entered again, followed by a maid bearing a tray of tea things.

"I'm sorry, I hope I didn't keep you waiting long," she beamed at him, and Albert couldn't help but smile back - her evident happiness was infectious, and he spoke teasingly.

"Well, perhaps a little - but I'm sure we'll manage." She sighed in mock annoyance and sat down next to Maximilien, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Watching her sit next to her husband like that, Albert was surprised at how different she seemed - this was not the Valentine that they had all known so many years ago; the solemn, quiet girl, whose smiles had nearly always been sad. This Valentine laughed, her smiles full of joy, her contentment showing through in everything that she did. Sitting on the edge of the sofa like that, with the sun from the window streaming through into the room and catching her hair, Albert thought that she looked radiant. She sat with a straight back, hands resting protectively on her stomach - pregnancy had softened her slim features, and Albert thought the look suited her wonderfully.

"So, Albert," she began, reaching out to pour the tea, only to have her hands batted away by Maximilien, who seemed determined to do these things for her. She gave her husband an amused but loving look, and returned her attention to the other. "How long were you planning to stay? Of course we'll understand if you have something to attend to elsewhere -- but it's been so long since we've seen you, and we'd love for you to use one of the spare rooms for a while."

"That would be very kind of you," Albert said gratefully, "really, the reason I came to Marseille was to see you all, so I'd be honoured if you'd allow me to stay a little longer. Ahh, thank you," he accepted a cup of steaming tea from Maximilien, who also handed one to Valentine.

"It's been... quite lonely around the house for a while now," Maximilien said carefully, "so we'd be glad for you to stay as long as you need to."

Albert raised his eyebrows, shifting a little uncomfortably at the more solemn atmosphere that had fallen over the room following Maximilien's comment. "Lonely? I... I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but... has something happened?" he watched them in concern as Valentine's face transformed into one of sorrow. She reached out and clasped one of Maximilien's hands, remaining silent.

"It's been quite a difficult time for all of us, recently," Maximilien began, a grave expression coming over his features, "it pains me to say it, but six months ago, Monsieur Noirtier passed away." Albert saw Valentine's eyes fill up with tears, though none fell. She bit her lip, and kept her gaze downcast.

"I... I'm so sorry to hear that," Albert said softly, unpleasantly shocked by this information - it just seemed so _wrong_, somehow; it was true that Monsieur Noirtier had been old and ill, but he had still always seemed to have so much strength.

"Maximilien's relatives have gone, too," Valentine said in a low voice, "they... they said they just couldn't stay here any more." Albert looked at Maximilien, surprised. Valentine's behaviour seemed slightly odd too - he knew there could be no reason for it, but he would have said that Valentine sounded almost as though she felt _guilty_ about it.

"They're... gone? Why?" Albert couldn't help but feel as though he was prying, even though it seemed like he would have to have found out sooner or later. Valentine stifled a dry sob, but looked at him directly, gaze strong.

"My father is living here with us now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes**: Right...it occurs to me that when I started this I didn't have the series to hand... and as such have now discovered it doesn't quite fit in with end-of-series canon. So, um, it's technically a little AU. (In places I got book canon mixed in with it too) But, otherwise it mostly fits. :p

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Silence fell. Albert's mouth moved silently; how could this be? He stared at Valentine in shock, frozen. He didn't know what he could say, even if he could have formed the words. Maximilien seemed to be looking at him with understanding; evidently Monsieur de Villefort was here on Valentine's request, but of course Maximilien would support and respect her wishes.

"I..." He trailed off, looking back and forth between them helplessly. It seemed almost incomprehensible to him - that they would have him here, after everything that had happened. After what he'd _done_; even disregarding Monsieur de Villefort's hand in what had happened to the Count, he had hardly treated Maximilien and Valentine in an acceptable way. And... thinking about it now, Albert suddenly realised that he'd never even stopped to consider what might have happened to the man - his career over, reputation ruined beyond repair... not to mention the way he had seemed to break down after Cavalcanti -- Benedetto, he corrected himself -- had attacked him in the court room.

Valentine reached out and took hold of his hands, breaking him from his thoughts. "Albert," she began hesitantly, "I know that... that you have little reason to like my father. But, I beg of you -- we would like you to stay, and so it would mean a lot to me if you could put aside your animosity and tolerate him for a short while."

Albert shook his head in confusion. "But, Valentine -- of course; if you wish, but--" he broke off again, trying to formulate the words, "how... after the way he treated _you_, I just..."

Valentine smiled shaking her head. "My father isn't a bad man, Albert. Truly. He's never been perfect, but he was a victim of circumstance, like any other. He's never intentionally set out to cause others harm -- and, he was only ever protective of me because he loves me. He loved our family deeply. He's more than paid the price for any dishonourable deeds he pay have performed in the past, and... I can't abandon him; not like this, not now. I forgive him, and he needs me." She lowered her head, dark hair falling into her eyes, "you loved the Count, didn't you, Albert? And you forgave him - forgave him for what he did to... to..." she trailed off, and her words struck Albert deeply.

"Valentine, I... of course; you're right. I wouldn't dream of being so selfish as to judge you for taking in your father." He smiled sadly, "how is he? I must admit, I have not seen him since..." She shifted and leaned a little on Maximilien for support, who had been sitting and watching her in concern. The room had been darkening for a while; dark clouds were gathering again. Undoubtedly there would be another storm that night.

She seemed to be deliberating on what to say; her tea lay cold and untouched on the table before her. "He doesn't talk much," she began, "and he... he has to use a wheel chair, too. We're not exactly sure what it was that Andrea Cavalcanti used on him, but, he's very different now." Valentine frowned, and then stood up. "Albert... I'd like you to come and meet him. Please?" Albert was surprised; he'd had no idea that Villefort had been affected so greatly - if he was perfectly honest with himself, it made him feel a little uncomfortable. He'd always thought that Monsieur de Villefort deserved whatever had happened to him, simply because of how he'd treated both the Count and Valentine, but this...

Albert hesitated only for a moment before nodding. "Of course; if I'm to be staying with you, I would like that very much." He and Maximilien stood up, and Valentine led the way out of the room. The house had become so gloomy because of the weather, evidently some of the staff had begun to light the lamps lining the walls in the hall; they made their way through the warmly lit corridor back through to the main hallway. From here Valentine led them up the wide staircase, and across the thickly carpeted corridor to a room near the back. Valentine knocked gently on the dark wooden door, but no response came from within.

They entered slowly; Albert found he was unreasonably nervous, and his breaths came shallow and quick. The room was cosy and welcoming; evidently this was Valentine's touch, because when Monsieur de Villefort came into view, Albert simply couldn't imagine that the man cared in the slightest about his surroundings. Even Albert, who now held no affection for the man he had once respected, found the sight almost painful. Just like his father before him, he was confined to a wheel chair. His head was slightly bowed, and he was dressed in loose, casual clothes; something that Albert could never have imagined the proud, image-conscious man he used to be wearing. His hair was dull, but it was clear that Valentine must brush it carefully everyday. He didn't respond at all to their entrance; as far as the ex-judge was concerned, nothing had changed.

"Father?" Valentine approached Villefort and sat down slowly on the bed near him; it was almost as if she was trying her best not to startle him. She reached out and stroked his hair tenderly; her expression was sad, but when she spoke she forced herself to inject a measure of cheerfulness. "How are you this evening? Look, we're going to have a guest staying with us for a while," she gently lifted up his chin so he could see Albert, "this is our friend Albert. Do you remember him?"

Albert froze as Villefort's gaze alighted on him, and for a split second it seemed oddly piercing. A moment later, though, and it was back to his previous blank stare. Albert glanced at Maximilien, who was standing next to him and watching the scene stoically. He did wonder one thing, though: if this was the extent of Monsieur de Villefort's interactions, what was it about him that had given Maximilien's relatives such cause to leave? The man seemed positively harmless.

"Val...entine...?" Albert jumped as a weak voice rasped through the silence. Somehow, he had not expected Villefort to be able to speak. "Who are... you...?"

Valentine was instantly on her feet, bending over him and cradling his hands in her own. Albert could barely watch; Monsieur de Villefort looked bemused and lost, and was staring at Valentine in confusion while she hushed him and kissed his cheek softly.

"It's me, Father," she gave his hand a squeeze, and smiled encouragingly, "your daughter." Villefort looked back at the floor uncomprehendingly. Albert felt helpless; it seemed as though, for Valentine, this was a regular occurrence.

"Sorry, Albert," she said, turning to face him, "he's having one of his less responsive days. Maximilien - would you mind showing Albert to his room? I'd like to put Father to bed." Maximilien nodded, and walked over to give his wife a kiss on the cheek before returning to Albert.

"Of course, Valentine. Good night, Monsieur de Villefort." Though Maximilien smiled, Albert couldn't quite tell whether it was genuine or not. "Come, Albert. Your room is this way."

Albert followed the ex-soldier back outside into the upstairs landing, and let out a tense breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. The awkwardness of the previous room had not entirely dissipated; though the house's atmosphere was warm and welcoming, there was an uncomfortable feeling that Albert couldn't quite shake. Maximilien led the way back past the stairs in the other direction, and ushered Albert into his bedroom. It was quite small, but comfortably furnished and very clean.

"Ah, thank you," Albert smiled, walking over past the bed and seeing his bags on the floor - (he'd be so glad to finally get out of these clothes) - and noticed that Maximilien still seemed very preoccupied. "Um, Maximilien... I hope you don't mind me asking, but - Monsieur de Villefort - is he always...?" Albert trailed off, slightly worried by the darkening expression on the other's face.

"...always like that? No," Maximilien spoke in clipped tones, as though he would have liked to have spoken harshly, but was attempting to restrain himself. "No, he's not. Tonight is, well... tonight was an example of one of his _better _moments."

Albert felt his stomach twist unpleasantly; that was Villefort on a good day?

Maximilien continued. "Sometimes he does recognise Valentine; sometimes he even recognises me - but his lucid days aren't always for the best. He can get angry, even violent - though most of the time I think he doesn't even know what he's doing. He'll talk to himself; go off on long nonsensical rants... he's very unpredictable. He likes to maintain the illusion that he still has a job; we let him think whatever keeps him the most docile." Maximilien began to pace the small room, hands clasped behind his back. "Valentine's learned to cope with him, it seems - but when we first took him in, he made her desperately unhappy. I could hardly bare to watch her with him, but she was determined to do it." His mouth was compressed into a thin line, and Albert couldn't help but feel out of his depth.

"I... I'm sorry Maximilien; it must be hard for you. For both of you. If... if there's anything I could do to help--" Maximilien cut him off, smiling.

"No, thank you Albert. I appreciate the sentiment, but, truly, we manage. For the most part, Monsieur de Villefort makes Valentine happy now, so who am I to stand in the way of that? And all of this aside - you are our guest, and I'm sure there's nothing Valentine would want more than for you to relax and enjoy your stay with us here. It was just... necessary that you knew about Monsieur de Villefort; and probably better that you found out sooner rather than later."

Albert nodded his understanding, and gave a tired smile. "Thank you, Maximilien. But I'd like you both to know that, if you ever need me for anything; I'm here." Maximilien inclined his head and smiled.

"Valentine will be very touched to hear that."

Albert gave a little yawn, and then immediately blushed as Maximilien laughed. "Ah, I'm so sorry! I hope you don't mind if I retire now..."

"Of course - I'm sorry we kept you up; you must have had a long tiring journey - I'll let Valentine know. Would you like supper sending up?" Albert shook his head and sat down on the end of the soft bed which dominated the centre of the room.

"No, but thank you for the offer." He watched Maximilien gratefully as the other man smiled at him and turned to leave.

"Goodnight, Albert - we'll see you at breakfast."

"Goodnight." Albert waited until the door had swung shut with a definite 'click' before flopping down backwards onto the bed. He could hardly believe how tired he was; though after a while he had got used to sleeping in the coach when necessary, it was nowhere near a decent substitute for sleeping in a real bed. "Ahh..." The duvet was soft and fluffy, and the mattress was firm; just as he preferred it. The room was decorated in soothing pastels, and though it was not exactly to Albert's taste, it was a pleasant enough environment.

He couldn't help but run over the day's events in his head as he undressed and prepared for bed. It had been... a strange day of unexpected news, to say the least - while some of it was wonderful, like Valentine now being pregnant, some of it was awful - he still could hardly believe that Monsieur Noirtier had passed away. And as for Monsieur de Villefort, well... Albert wasn't even sure what he thought about that yet.

The young man headed into the en-suite bathroom, pondering as he did so. How was it that Maximilien and Valentine had seemed so happy, so content? He envied them in some ways - after all that had happened, they still retained their good cheer and optimism. He felt rather sorry for Maximilien's relatives - but at the same time, having seen Monsieur de Villefort, he could hardly bring himself to blame the man. Though if what Maximilien had said about him was true... He dried off his face and returned to the bedroom, turning off the main light before slipping into bed.

At times like this, he often found himself wondering what Franz would have thought. After all, Valentine was originally destined to be Franz's wife, and Monsieur de Villefort his father-in-law. But... Franz had never liked to talk about them much. Albert knew he had been on reasonable terms with Villefort; he had respected the man, and had wanted to please him, despite being utterly indifferent about his engagement to Valentine. It had been an odd situation.

_"Do you love your fiancée?"_

He still remembered that day so clearly, as though it was etched permanently in his memory. That day, both he and Franz had been forced to face up to the fact that neither of them actually knew why they were engaged - and that their parents decisions were, in fact, evidently not flawless. He'd always liked the idea of marrying for love. Albert switched off the bedside light, and lay on his back staring at the dark ceiling. All those years ago, in the beginning, he'd known he hadn't loved Eugénie. But later…

He'd always envied his parents' marriage - or what he _thought_ his parents' marriage was like - chosen by themselves, passionate, and full of love; much like in that opera he and Franz had watched on Luna.

If he was truly honest about it, Albert would probably have said that he still didn't really know what real love was. Truthfully, he had thought himself in love twice. He was now separated from one of those people by distance, and from the other by death. Both times, he had come to realise that some things are, evidently, just not meant to be.

Thunder rattled the window frames; another storm had moved in from the coast, and it looked as though they were in for another long night of rain.

-----

The next morning, Albert awoke to stripes of sunlight streaming in through the slats in the shuttered windows. He blinked blearily for a few moments, before glancing at the clock on the bedside table and letting out a sigh of relief; for a moment he'd been worried that he'd horribly overslept. He presumed he'd be expected downstairs at breakfast, so reluctantly peeled back the warm covers and began to get ready.

As it turned out, Maximilien was the only one seated at the table when Albert finally made his way downstairs. The place settings were laid for three, but Valentine was nowhere to be seen.

"Did you sleep well?" Maximilien smiled at him genially, reaching for a pastry. Unexpectedly, Albert found that he was actually very hungry - and his stomach quickly growled embarrassingly as though to emphasise that fact.

"Yes, thank you - it's wonderful to be able to sleep in such a comfortable bed again!" Not in the mood for anything sweet, he took some bread and studied the cheese for a while, before selecting a piece. "How... is Valentine this morning?"

Maximilien shrugged lightly, but he didn't look worried, "oh, she's fine - she'll be along any minute, hopefully... it's most likely she'll be with Monsieur de Villefort."

"Ah," Albert took a bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully, "has his condition improved any, since you both took him in?" Maximilien looked surprised at this question, but then slightly pleased.

"Surprisingly, he has indeed. When he was first brought here, I have to admit that I thought it was hopeless. I don't know if you... if you ever saw him in the beginning - right after the court room incident - but, it was awful." He sighed and took a sip of his hot chocolate, "but... Valentine has managed so much," his expression grew proud, and he smiled fondly, "he still has his moments, but for the time being Monsieur de Villefort is, in general, doing very well. Occasionally, he even approaches lucidity! He recognised me once; Valentine was so pleased."

"I'm so glad to hear that," Albert said honestly, "though I hope, for Valentine's sake, that he improves further."

Maximilien shrugged, "it's possible. But we don't like to build up our hopes too high - we just take each day as it comes."

"Indeed we do!" Valentine said, smiling cheerfully as she entered the breakfast room; she walked around the table to give her husband a kiss on the cheek, and took a seat opposite Albert. "And it's a beautiful morning too, don't you think?"

Albert grinned, glad to see that Valentine was in such a good mood after the down heartening subjects of last night's conversation. "It is, definitely! I don't know how you cope with this weather all the time though - horribly stormy one moment, and then perfect blue skies the next. Hopefully this spot of good weather will last a while, though - I'd like to explore Marseille at some point."

Valentine clasped her hands together, looking pleased. As always, her hair was falling over her eyes, and she tried to push it away ineffectually. "Of course - and we'd love to give you a tour, if you'd like a guide. Although, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to move too fast or climb too many hills…" She reached for her tea, and patted her round stomach gently.

"That would be perfect, thank you." Albert beamed, and finished off his bread. He couldn't really describe how glad he was that he had decided to halt his travels; he'd certainly needed the time alone, to think and educate himself - as well as do some growing up - but… he'd missed this.

They were just finishing off breakfast when a maid entered the room with an anxious look on her face.

"Um… Madame Morrell? There's a videophone call for you from Mademoiselle Danglars. She says it's very urgent."

Albert jumped slightly at the mention of Eugénie's name, and the three seated at the table all looked at each other questioningly.

"Yes, I'll come and take it right away," Valentine confirmed, before hurrying out with a last backwards glance of concern. Albert sat, frozen, uncertain of what to think, or how to feel. He'd avoided any contact with Eugénie for years - although he told himself that it was just because it would have been impractical.

Their last meeting - or rather, farewell - had been confusing. Half of him had accepted that he would probably never see her again, while the other half had entertained fantasies of spontaneously following her to New York, or just holding her tightly and refusing to let her go. He just… wasn't sure where he stood anymore. They had both grown up since then; both moved on. But even so…

Something urgent? The thought that Eugénie might be in some kind of trouble worried him greatly - regardless of everything that had happened, and regardless of all the time that had passed, she had still always been one of his best friends. He hated not knowing that she was fine.

He and Maximilien waited silently until Valentine finally returned to the room, twisting a handkerchief wretchedly between her hands. She paused by the end of the table, and gazed at them both worriedly.

"Andrea Cavalcanti is… not gone." Her voice trailed off near the end, becoming weak: in an instant Maximilien was up out of his chair and supporting Valentine gently.

"Come, let's move to the drawing room," he said gruffly, guiding his wife who was trying her best to stand up perfectly straight. They entered the light and airy room - a feeling that was magnified by the fine weather outside - and Maximilien made Valentine lie down on the chaise-longue, despite her protests.

"No, really, I'm fine…" She received a 'tsk' from Maximilien for that, but for once she ignored him and focused on both men. "Look, honestly… and this is important, it concerns the safety of my Father!"

Albert and Maximilien both looked horrified, and sat down on chairs opposite Valentine's.

"What… how is Eugénie? Is she alright? What's happened with Andre--" Albert stopped himself as he felt the questions pour out of him: how could he be so rude? Valentine would have to cover everything at her own pace. She took a deep breath, and began.

"Well, Eugénie is okay - for the moment. But as it turns out, her mother, Madame Danglars, recently received a _letter _from Andrea Cavalcanti. He's… he's after something, but we're not entirely sure what. One thing is for certain, though: my father is in danger."


	3. Chapter 3

Albert's good mood had evaporated long ago, and though he regarded Valentine with sorrow, his anger was growing by the minute.

"How can this be?" he asked in exasperation, "Cavalcanti was supposed to be rotting in prison! Not to mention the authorities know he's not right in the head. Is Eugénie still in New York? She can't come over her if…if Cavalcanti's about. She's too connected to him, it wouldn't be safe."

Valentine smiled sadly, "I already told her that, but she's insisting on coming. In fact, her plane is due to leave in a few hours. She should be with us tomorrow."

Albert felt irrationally annoyed, but couldn't explain it. Of course Eugénie would come - headstrong girl that she was. He was a little surprised that she was coming straight here rather than going to see her mother first, but then, since she and Valentine _were_ both Cavalcanti's half-sisters…

It all seemed so surreal. Just when things seemed like they might have been recovering after the fateful events of that summer… this had to happen. If he thought about it rationally, he supposed Eugénie was right to want to come back to France. He certainly knew that's what he would have done, and Franz, too.

Maximilien had remained silent since Valentine had first begun speaking; he rested his chin on his hand, looking thoughtful. "So what do you think we should do?" he said, half talking to Albert and Valentine, half to himself.

"Inform the authorities at once, obviously," Albert said promptly, "Cavalcanti is a sneaky, manipulative, violent identity thief - we at least know he's in the country, now; they might have a chance of catching him." Valentine looked unconvinced. "… I know that solution doesn't solve anything for the moment, but… now we're aware of it, we'll all do everything in our power to help."

Maximilien nodded, and took Valentine's hands.

"Albert's right. Cavalcanti is still a wanted criminal - it can't be possible for him to get away with doing whatever he likes now." He smiled reassuringly at his wife. "I'll go and take care of that now - you stay and have breakfast, Valentine, you still haven't eaten." Maximilien gave her hand a last squeeze and turned to hurry out of the room.

Valentine sat down with a sigh, and reached for some bread. Albert tried to think of something comforting to say, but knew all the generic statements of reassurance - 'It'll all be okay', 'there's nothing to worry about' - would ring hollow; he knew they were meaningless anyway, so stayed quiet, contemplating the situation. If Cavalcanti really had resurfaced… it was definitely bad news. But it just didn't make sense; what could he possibly want that it was worth risking his illegitimately gained freedom? Revenge? Money? Perhaps the man had just been driven even more insane than he had been previously.

The light cascaded brightly onto the breakfast table, completely at odds with the solemn, thoughtful mood that now filled the room. Albert watched Valentine pick glumly at her bread; appetite clearly gone, much like Albert's own. Truth be told, he couldn't help but feel nervous about the fact that Eugénie was arriving, here, tomorrow. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the gravity of the situation, he probably would have tried to politely take his leave and start heading to Paris before she arrived in Marseille. He couldn't even make sense of it himself; they had parted on good terms, but after all this time… it would be -- awkward. And he hated feeling awkward around Eugénie.

He was startled out of these thoughts as Maximilien entered the room, and found that he had absent-mindedly squashed his brie into purée with his fork.

"Well, it's done," Maximilien said, though he sounded unhappy about it, and Albert could see the bitterness in his face, "but they didn't sound too interested - said they already knew he was out, and that they were too busy to place him high up in their priorities."

As the drinks turned cold, staff came into the room and began to clear away everything on the table - those seated around it had barely touched a thing.

Valentine looked horrified, "but how can that be? He's already as good as threatened my father, and Eugénie's mother too!" She clenched her fists, evidently frustrated.

Albert felt his own anger at the blond madman grow, "Valentine…" he stood up suddenly, hands planted on the now empty table in determination, "please don't fret. If the police aren't interested, then we'll deal with Cavalcanti ourselves." His mouth was set in a thin line, eyes hard as he remembered what had been done to Eugénie. "We can't allow him to hurt anybody else."

Maximilien stood up as well, and nodded firmly in agreement. "Exactly," he and Albert shared a glance, "whatever he may think, Cavalcanti does not have the upper hand - any way you look at it, he's on the run, and most likely has no-one to turn to. And we're aware of his intentions now, so…"

Valentine did appear to be slightly comforted by these words, and looked gratefully at the two young men in front of her. "Yes, thank you," she rested her hands on her stomach, and tried to force a smile. "I'm sure I… overreacted. But, even so… I do hope you won't be offended, Albert, if I don't accompany you around Marseille, today? I should really be with my father at a time like this."

Albert shook his head hurriedly, "of course, Valentine. It's more than understandable. Would you like company?"

"Oh no, no," she looked slightly apologetic, "please, you go out and see the town; I'd hate for you to miss it on a lovely day like this on my account. Maximilien, you were going to go out to the port today, weren't you?"

The ex-soldier brightened a little and turned to Albert, "indeed, we're due to get in a shipment today, so I really ought to be there. You're very welcome to come along, though - if you walk you get to see most of the town along the way."

Albert smiled and inclined his head, though he still couldn't help but feel concerned by how worried Valentine was. Of course, her attitude was understandable, but he knew someone would have to persuade her soon that she wouldn't be able to protect her father simply by spending all day with him. "That would be perfect."

"Well, then!" Maximilien looked faintly pleased, but this expression disappeared as he saw the faint, strained smile that Valentine gave them before she hurried away upstairs. "…I'll see you outside by the gate in about an hour, Albert?"

"Sure." And with that, Maximilien nodded briskly and strode to leave via the door at the other end of the dining room. Albert felt a little strange being left on his own like this; he wandered over to one of the larger windows and sat in the bay seat for a moment, looking out over the pretty front gardens. It was late spring, and all the flowers were beginning to bloom. Though some of them looked a little battered from all of the recent storms, the gardens were still dotted with bright splashes of colour. The trees were covered in fresh young leaves, and the whole garden radiated with a sense of new life in the pleasant, warm weather.

"A - Albert?" He glanced up in surprise at the sound of his name, and turned to see Camille standing nervously in the doorway. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but… I couldn't help but hear about what's happened, and…"

Albert sighed, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Ahh, yes… I suppose you would; the staff do seem to like to gossip." Camille looked embarrassed, but there was also a hint of worry and curiosity in his face. "Look… it'll probably be all right, but I don't know how long it'll affect the duration of our stay here, so I'm sorry about that."

Camille seemed unconcerned about that, and watched him a little more intently. "Are _you_ okay? You seem very troubled…"

Albert nodded, turning to face the window again. "Yes, of course. Although partly that's--" he broke off and laughed softly, annoyed at himself for still worrying over something which was, in comparison to recent events, utterly unimportant, "-- well, I'll be seeing an old… friend again shortly. I haven't seen her in… a long time, and," he shrugged, "you know how these things are. It'll be awkward."

Camille's eyes had widened slightly at this, but then a frowned a little, sadly, and looked determined. "I'm sorry." He shook his head, eyes concerned. "But… it'll turn out okay. You'll see."

And then, suddenly, he was gone. Albert raised an eyebrow in confusion, wondering about the impromptu visit; although in a way he was quite glad Camille had known already, because it saved him having to break it to him later. After all, depending on how things turned out, he could be staying here for quite a while.

Albert tucked his legs up and rested his arms on his knees; it felt so peaceful here, despite what was now happening. Inadvertently, he let his eyes slip shut…

He was awoken with a jump by a loud shout from upstairs, heart beating wildly. A distinct thump and clattering sound followed, and Albert leaped up, eyes narrowing as he began to run towards the stairs.

It couldn't possibly be… could it?

His chest felt tight and he nearly tripped as he made it up the last few steps.

When he rushed forwards and banged open the door at the end of the hallway, he was fully prepared to see an irate Andrea Cavalcanti displaying his characteristic viciousness. But he froze, hand half out, as the scene before him finally registered; Cavalcanti was nowhere to be seen, and the only two occupants of the room were Valentine and her father.

Villefort was leaning forward in his chair, eyes fixed intently upon Albert's face, breath coming in laborious gasps. His blond hair was unkempt and had clearly not been brushed, and his face had a strange pallor to it; deathly pale aside from the dark rings which rimmed his confused eyes. Valentine was standing a few feet away from him, but looked as though she had been in the midst of attempting to pacify him from afar; her arms had been outstretched upon Albert's arrival, but they now hung loosely at her sides as her cheeks flushed with - what was it? Mortification?

The room itself was something of a mess; a delicate blue vase lay broken in pieces on the floor, various surfaces were covered in ripped paper, and the pillows from the bed looked as though they had been hurled to their current positions under the window.

Monsieur de Villefort; it had to be. Albert reached up and rubbed at his neck awkwardly - he could tell from Valentine's expression that she hated for him to see her father like this. He could barely believe it himself; he'd grown up knowing Monsieur de Villefort as the fearful - yet respectable and gentlemanly - Court Judge. But seeing him in his current condition… he was barely recognisable. Villefort's breaths were still coming raggedly, and his gaze seemed to be fixed even more closely on Albert.

"Bene…de…tto…" Villefort choked out the name with the utmost effort, and Valentine ran over to return to his side. Albert's eyes narrowed and he moved closer, so that he could lean down and ask the necessary questions at his eye level.

"Did you tell him?" he asked Valentine, without breaking the silent communication he seemed to have formed with the other man. She shook her head quickly.

"Of course not! It would only have worried him unnecessarily… there was no reason to. I left for a moment to fetch something, and when I returned he was so very agitated."

"And yet, he knows…" Albert frowned, and made sure he had Villefort's attention before speaking again. "How? Who told you?"

For a few long moments, there was absolute silence. Not even the ticking of a clock could be heard. But finally, the left side of Villefort's mouth twitched just a little, and transformed into something that could almost be considered a smile.

"…servant…" he practically spat out the word, but seemed particularly pleased with himself. Albert looked up at Valentine to see how she was doing; she did not seem well. He stood up, and moved to lean against the wall, thinking. A servant _told_ him? Surely not. At least, not straight out anyway. It must have been… gossip. Overheard gossip; that was it.

How careless. He couldn't believe that employees would talk about the matter when Monsieur de Villefort was anywhere in earshot. Valentine looked unconvinced, but seemed to want to let it go for the moment.

"Look," Albert leaned down again, and felt Villefort studying him coldly, "we didn't want to keep it a secret from you… but your daughter loves you and is trying to look after you. You finding out can't have helped anything."

Albert felt a little ridiculous talking to such an unresponsive figure - secretly he felt that the effects of Monsieur de Villefort's 'episode' were a perfect illustration of why he shouldn't have been told, but he felt it was safer to not point this out.

Valentine now rested her hands on the backs of her father's shoulders; she patted him lovingly and reached for the hairbrush which lay on the mahogany dressing table behind her.

"Albert," she began softly, a small smile on her lips, "do you know, this is this first time I've felt really optimistic since the news."

He quirked an eyebrow, curious, "why is that?" Villefort's expression seemed to have sunk back in to its blank, glazed-over state, so Albert stood up and faced Valentine.

"Why? Albert, he responded to you! He _answered_ you!" She held the blond hair in one hand and gently ran the brush through it with the other. "It's so rare he does that, even with me; frequently he's completely silent. But, it's just so wonderful that he talked with you of his own will. Perhaps this means he's getting better…"

Albert bit his lip, not wanting to voice his doubts and shatter Valentine's brief moment of happiness.

"Valentine…" he walked towards the door and gave her a last look, "you should probably look into which maid it was that made him aware of what's going on." She nodded determinedly, and It was then that Albert suddenly noticed the time on the clock behind her.

"Oh! I should go," he smiled apologetically and turned, "I promised I'd meet Maximilien outside before we head out to the base; it's almost time." The thought of that made Valentine smile, and she nodded, ushering him out of the room and following him to the top of the staircase. Her eyes looked happier as she studied him, "I do hope you have fun - try and get to see as much as possible!"

He grinned and gave her a little wave, watching as she turned and headed straight back to the room where she had left Villefort.

He had to admit he felt rather strange about that whole exchange - Villefort's apparent lucidity, coupled with those extreme bouts of anger was not a promising combination. But, if it made Valentine happy…

He walked down the steps and came across Maximilien just as he was leaving to go and wait outside in the courtyard.

"Maximilien!"

"Ah, Albert," he smiled genially, and gestured in front of him, "care to leave, now? We still have plenty of time before dinner."

"Sure," Albert replied absently, and followed Maximilien out of the hallway and into the bright sunlight on the doorstep. The gravel on the driveway crunched underfoot as they headed towards the large iron gates. Albert was quiet as they made their way outside, still lost in thought about the earlier events. Maximilien kept shooting him curious, sidelong looks, but Albert simply didn't notice, and nearly ended up walking straight into the back of his friend when he paused to open the smaller side gate.

Maximilien looked at him in amusement, pushing open the gate with a quiet screech, and leading the way through it out onto the road. "Albert…" They walked side by side, taking in the quiet sounds of the sea, and the sun upon their faces. "Is something bothering you?"

"Hm? Oh…" He paused for a moment, not entirely sure if he should voice his concerns to Maximilien or not. But as he glanced up and saw the other's concerned expression, he couldn't help but be swayed. "Well, it's Monsieur de Villefort. He… he knows about Cavalcanti; though we're not sure how much.

"What?" Maximilien looked astonished, and then his features darkened, brows drawing together in thought. "How can that be? He can barely communicate with anyone, and Valentine certainly wouldn't tell him." He pondered the matter a little more, and finally his eyes lit upon Albert again, faintly accusing. "…was it you, Albert?"

Albert frowned indignantly, "certainly not! The only reason I went to his room was because I heard loud noises while I was downstairs; I was thinking about the Cavalcanti situation at the time, so I was probably a little over-paranoid, but…"

"Ah, sorry," Maximilien smiled sheepishly, and they turned the corner at the end of their long road, "so… do you know how he became aware of it, then?"

Albert nodded, gazing up at the tall architecture around them as they walked, "yes. He couldn't specify, but we know it was a maid. Perhaps purposefully, or perhaps he just overheard a conversation he wasn't supposed to hear. It's hard to say."

The ex-soldier sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, "I suppose it can't be helped. Though I fear it will just make his attitude even worse. And with his current state of mind… who knows? Maybe he'd even _want_ to see Cavalcanti."

Their walk was taking them down towards the main square of the town, and from their current vantage point Albert could see hints of the blue sea, glittering between the gaps in the houses.

"Perhaps. But… um, Valentine…"

Maximilien looked up sharply, "what?"

"It's…" Albert shifted uncomfortably, and stuffed his hands in his pockets awkwardly, "I really don't want to seem like I'm interfering, but I just… don't like to see Valentine get her hopes up so high. About Monsieur de Villefort's chances of recovering, I mean."

Maximilien's expression relaxed a little into one of regret. "Yes. It's alright, Albert - I know what you mean. I've tried to talk to her about it, but she can be stubborn when she wants. She's convinced herself that if she spends enough time with him and encourages him enough, then somehow he'll eventually manage to get back to how he used to be."

They reached the centre of the town square, and paused for a moment to gaze up at the impressive fountain which was spraying sparkling water high up into the air before it cascaded down, covering them both in a cool, moist mist.

Maximilien shrugged, and they began to move on, the cobbled ground beneath their feet glistening darkly because of the fountain. "We've had doctors look at him, and they all say the same thing; they can't manage to identify the poison Cavalcanti used on him at the trial, they don't really know what's wrong with him, and chances of any kind of recovery are low. But still Valentine insists…" he trailed off, glancing at his companion unhappily.

"Mm." Albert considered this as they turned down a small, twisty side street to head towards the harbour. "I suppose, also… it's not really just the poison that cause the problems, is it."

"That too," Maximilien conceded, "he underwent massive trauma that day in _addition_ to the poison - so his mental state probably wouldn't have ended up as very healthy anyway. But… I like her to have some hope," he added, shaking his head slightly, "it might be naïve - but Valentine always used to be quite a pessimistic person, so I… I quite like her being this positive."

"That's understandable." Albert gave him a little smile, and they finally reached the end of the small, dark street and exited out into the brightness onto the road which ran parallel to the seashore. The wind was brisk and refreshing, and insisted on constantly blowing Albert's hair into his eyes and face, much to Maximilien's amusement. They walked over to the railings together, and Albert leaned over, gazing rapturously out at the vast, dark ocean. There were very few clouds in the sky, so today the sea seemed far more blue than grey.

These days, there were infrequently ships to be seen. Other than small boats and the occasional pleasure cruise, Marseille's harbour was rarely in use. It still greatly added to the charm of the town, though, Albert thought - he could easily see how he might grow to love this place as his mother had, and as Valentine and Maximilien had, too.

They shared a companionable silence for a while, and Albert realised that he truly appreciated Maximilien as a friend; he now found it a little hard to believe that there had once been such hostility between them. But, looking back, he saw his immaturity, and was very glad that all of that was in the past.

"It's beautiful, isn't it," he murmured, smiling appreciatively and watching the waves froth and wash upon the shore. Maximilien nodded, though as a local did not regard the view with nearly as much interest as Albert.

Maximilien simply looked… at home; as if there was nowhere else he belonged more. The sun was peaking in the clear sky above them, but its rays were not fierce, and it merely bathed those below in a welcome, gentle warmth. Albert gripped the rusting iron bar in front of him tightly, and they stayed there in silence, each lost in thought.


	4. Chapter 4

His mind quickly drifted back to something that was still bothering him; had been hovering in the back of his mind ever since Valentine had mentioned it. Eugénie. He knew that he would have to face her tomorrow, and knew that - whatever the result, they would have to all work together in order to get past and put right this Cavalcanti business. However, Albert was keen to try and get Eugénie to stay as far away from the madman as possible - after what Cavalcanti had done to her already… well, Albert didn't really want to think about it; he just wanted her safe.

"Are you alright?" Albert's train of thought was broken by Maximilien's question, and he realised that he'd been unconsciously frowning. His friend was watching him in concern, and Albert bit his lower lip for a moment before replying.

"Yeah, I suppose. It's just…" he paused, trying to search for the right words, "you know - tomorrow. Eugénie."

"Ahh," Maximilien nodded, brown eyes softening in understanding," of course. But, you know Albert… I really don't think you should worry about it. Whatever's going to happen will happen; chances are she'll feel just like you." Maximilien suddenly stopped and blushed a little, evidently embarrassed by seeming to attempt to give Albert advice on girls.

Albert straightened up, and watched the seagulls which circled the sky screeching as they flew. "You know? You're right. There's no point worrying… I'll try my best." Maximilien looked pleased, and cleared his throat.

"Right, then. Shall we move on further? If we walk up just past here, we should reach the town hall soon enough."

"Good idea; it was nice to stop here for a moment, though," Albert said appreciatively, as he and Maximilien began to head up past the centre of the harbour. In years gone by, the harbour would have been one of the most important parts of the town; it would have been busy and bustling, with ships docking and families rushing to meet the sailors disembarking from their long voyages. There would have been crates stacked high, full of foreign goods; thick coils of rope; tangled webs of netting, and piles of freshly caught fish. Now, though, it was nearly empty. A single lonely boat drifted in, but there was no one there to greet it. There were no crowds of people, no interesting cargo.

Albert couldn't help but feel, as they walked by, that it was somewhat sad; a remnant of another time which now almost felt out of place, despite how much of Marseille's character depended upon it. But of course, all of Marseille's business was now drawn to the space port, where they themselves were heading.

The rest of their walk passed pleasantly enough; Albert thoroughly enjoyed taking in the sights and architecture of Marseille, and by the end of it felt reasonably well acquainted with the town. Maximilien seemed to like acting as his guide, and happily gave him concise yet interesting facts about the various areas they passed through.

As it turned out, though, in fact they never made it to the space port.

The two young men stopped and stared at each other in surprise as an open-top car sped past at top speed, only narrowly missing Maximilien. Strangely enough, not a minute later it was back again - but this time driving in reverse slowly, until it finally pulled level with them. The reckless driver pulled off her sunglasses and leaned over, giving them a small smile, eyes sparkling.

"Come on, get in." Albert froze in shock, recognising that voice instantly. He finally focused on the girl in front of him, heat beating wildly.

"Eugénie." He knew his voice sounded slightly flat; unenthusiastic - and that pained him, because he knew it wasn't how he really wanted to come across. Her face fell slightly, and she glanced away from him.

"Eugénie!" Maximilien exclaimed, a big smile spreading over his face, "what are you doing here so soon? We weren't expecting you until tomorrow!" He accepted her gesture, and opened the back door of the car and clambered in; after a moment's hesitation, Albert followed.

"Ohh, I hope it's not a problem?" Eugénie sounded slightly guilty, "I found a much faster flight straight away, and I really wanted to get here as soon as possible, so…"

Maximilien waved away her concerns immediately., "oh no, not at all! Valentine will be so glad to see you. We've all been terribly concerned since you first brought… the news."

"Mm." Eugénie frowned, tapping her gloved hand against the steering wheel as she started up the car again, beginning the drive back into the centre of town. Her hair was slightly longer these days; the wavy ends of her blonde hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. "I know; I could hardly believe it myself." She shuddered, and Albert immediately felt anger at Cavalcanti thrill through him again. "But, after the phone call I received from my mother…" she sighed, and her expression was disconsolate. Albert supposed he should not be surprised that Eugénie had changed - it _had_ been a long time, but… the old Eugénie would not have shown so much concern over her mother, especially not when it came to Cavalcanti. "Well, it was unavoidable. And it's unthinkable that's he's out from behind bars again - so something has to be done about _that_!" Her jaw was set, expression determined.

Albert sat in the back of the car, the wind howling in his ears, and smiled. Because in many ways, this Eugénie was still the very same Eugénie that he had had to say goodbye to.

He sat quietly in his back seat, perfectly aware of the curious glances Maximilien kept throwing him, and of the way Eugénie pointedly did not talk to him directly. He knew it was foolish, childish and nonsensical, but… things were different somehow, and it bothered him that he didn't quite know why. He leaned an arm on top of the door, gazing moodily down at the road speeding along underneath them.

"…don't you think, Albert?" He jumped a little, taken by surprise at… whatever the question might have been.

"Huh?"

"I was just commenting on how well Eugénie was looking these days. Don't you agree?" Albert's mouth worked silently for a second, hardly able to believe Maximilien was capable of being so sly. The other young man was looking at him with an innocent smile, but his eyes said otherwise.

"…I liked your hair better before." The words were out of his mouth before he even had time to consider them, and, of course, he immediately regretted them.

"Well excuse _me_," Eugénie snapped, eyes narrowing on the road as she gripped the steering wheel tightly. Awkward silence fell again, and the only sound was that of the heavy purr of the car's engine, and the occasional angry rev as Eugénie tried to take out her obvious irritation with Albert.

Albert, on the other hand, had sunk down in his seat, looking guilty. Why was he acting so childishly? It was almost as though he had reverted to being twelve again. As he watched Eugénie's hair, blowing in the wind and escaping up over the headrest of the seat in front of him, he supposed, reluctantly, that he was just wary to let her back into his life again. She had been so important to him… and then - although he understood why - had left him. And it had been… years…

And, he thought with a pang of unhappiness, after all of this was over, she was probably going to run away back to New York again, to be with her music.

In barely any time at all, they were pulling up in the Morrells' drive; it was still beautiful, but the flowers and greenery did little to cheer Albert up. Eugénie pocketed her keys and leaped out lightly, dark sunglasses still perched precariously on her head.

"Oh…" she commented, as the trio began to walk up to the house, "your front door's already op--!" she broke off with a gasp as they drew close to the entrance, her expression horrified. Maximilien let out a cry and raced forwards.

"Valentine!" Both Eugénie and Albert heard his cry, in a voice so full of fear and worry, as he disappeared inside.

It took a split second for Albert to even realise exactly what it was that Eugénie and Maximilien had seen: but then it struck him. On the floor near the open door, there lay a crumpled female figure, hidden in shadows. They quickly glanced at each other and immediately ran inside, joining Maximilien who was kneeling by the figure, his expression tortured and his fingers pressed against her neck.

"She's dead…" he whispered in disbelief - and the immediately his eyes grew wide in utter terror. "Valentine…" The name was hardly out of his mouth before he was turning and sprinting up the stairs without a single glance backwards.

Eugénie was staring at the corpse of the girl on the floor, trembling slightly, even though Albert could tell how desperately she was attempting to hide it.

"She…" he murmured, crouching down and reaching out a hand to brush the messy hair from the body's face, "she's one of the maids. She brought us tea yesterday, and I… I never even knew her name." For some reason, he felt horrible guilty about this fact.

He straightened up and joined Eugénie in watching the stairs anxiously, waiting for word of Valentine -- and Monsieur de Villefort, too. Albert felt a cold hand of dread reach out and clutch at his stomach, twisting and turning until he felt sick with worry.

_Cavalcanti. _

It had to be - no-one else could have possibly done this. The front of the maid's uniform was stained almost black with blood; several deep, almost randomly positioned gashes were the source. Perhaps Cavalcanti had panicked; it certainly looked like the unplanned attack of a madman.

Their eyes met in sudden fear as they heard a heart-wrenching cry from upstairs; without a thought, they were almost tripping over in their haste to make it to the top of the stairs. Maximilien was in the room at the end of the hallway, alone, kneeling on the floor where his knees had given way from under him. Books were scattered and picture frames smashed; the room was a mess, and there was every evidence of a struggle.

But… no bodies, and no blood, Albert couldn't help but think with a small measure of relief. Eugénie's gloved hands covered her mouth, and her eyes were filled with shock, and glittered with unshed tears. But she did not cry, nor did she turn to him for comfort.

Maximilien was quiet now, except for his heavy breathing and occasional stifled sob. Albert felt his hatred for Andrea Cavalcanti grow even stronger - why had he taken Valentine, _why_? What was he planning? Because whatever it was, they probably didn't have much time. They needed to do something, and needed to do something _now_.

"It's…" Maximilien whispered hoarsely, the anger etched deeply in his voice, "it's all my fault. What was I thinking, leaving Valentine here all by herself? And… the baby… How… how could I have done that? And… and Marie -- poor Marie…"

Albert watched hopelessly as Maximilien seemed to spiral downwards in a cycle of depression and guilt - only Eugénie regained a determined gleam in her eyes, and marched forwards to place her hands gently on Maximilien's shoulders below her.

He didn't respond at all as she touched him, crouching down beside him to catch his attention, her face worried, but resolute.

"Maximilien…" She gripped his shoulder tightly as his body shook silently; quietly mumbled words slipping inaudibly from his lips. "We still have time. But… we have to act quickly. If we sit and wait here for too long, who knows what could happen? Cavalcanti is… unpredictable. And ruthless. But - he's not an imbecile, and he has nothing to gain from letting anything happen to Valentine."

Maximilien looked up, expression dark, "… but he is insane."

The words fell heavy and foreboding in the wrecked room. But still, Eugénie's words had had an effect on the tall man, and he stood, clenching his fists.

"You're right. We have to do something, and soon." Without a glance, he strode past them, expression hard and eyes determined. "I'll go and put a call through to the gendarmes. They probably won't be able to do much, but… Marie… something must be done."

Albert cast Eugénie a sombre glance, and together they followed Maximilien from what had been Monsieur de Villefort's room. It felt awful, hearing the house so empty and eerily quiet. It simply wasn't _right_, and Albert couldn't believe that Maximilien and Valentine were being put through this after all they had already endured.

They sat in the dining room as Maximilien was taking care of the necessary phone calls; silence reigned, each lost in thought. Albert was deeply unsettled; this was not at all how he had imagined things would turn out once he returned to France. Albert watched Eugénie quietly - and so, for a moment, he saw her guarded expression fall. She looked terribly desolate, and he felt nothing but an overwhelming desire to try and make all that pain and fear disappear.

"Eugénie…"

"Hm?" She looked towards him, feelings shielded once more.

"I… do you think you should phone your mother? You must want to check that she's alright…" The blonde girl raised an eyebrow, studying him.

"Well, of course. I'm quite sure she's fine, though; Marseille and Paris are quite a long way from each other, you know. But yes, I will keep her updated."

Albert only nodded, feeling slightly foolish. Only Eugénie could make him feel this much like a child again.

"Look, Eugénie… about this morning…"

She looked back up from examining the he pattern stretching around the edge of the table, eyes surprised.

"Yes?" Her response was unexpectedly gentle, and Albert felt a burst of -- what was it? Hope? Fear? Anticipation? -- glowing in his chest.

"I just wanted to say--"

"Finally got through to them," Maximilien announced wearily as he entered the room, causing Albert to jump a little in surprise, "they'll be here in just a little while."

The sky was now dark, and they'd switched the electric lights on because, unsurprisingly, there were no longer any staff left in residence, and so there was no-one to look after the many candles which gave the house a certain distinctive charm. Albert absent-mindedly wondered what had happened to Camille. Had he gone, too? He wouldn't have blamed him in the slightest.

The three of them sat for a moment, all tense and awaiting the arrival of the gendarmes. It was evident that Maximilien was incredibly highly strung; he could not seem to keep still, and constantly seemed distracted. Just sitting and waiting seemed to be an impossible task for him - he soon stood up again, excusing himself with the promise of going to fetch them all tea.

Although he and Eugénie were alone again, Albert could not bring himself to continue what he had been planning to say earlier. It was still too soon, too awkward. The timing was hardly appropriate, either. He noticed Eugénie watching him, but refused to meet her eyes. Instead, he reached out and chose an orange from the bowl of fruit in the centre of the table. He really wasn't hungry in the slightest - but it was something to focus on; something to keep his hands and mind somewhat occupied.

The sweet, citrus smell of the fruit was powerful, and Albert appreciated the simple distraction. He chewed slowly on the food that his stomach really had no desire for, and watched Eugénie stare listlessly out of the window into the darkness. Things were looking bleak, and Albert found that he really had no idea about what they should do next. '_Track down Cavalcanti_', he supposed - but _how_? It was far easier said than done, especially if Cavalcanti truly didn't want to be found. He'd hidden and escaped before; he could probably do it again.

Except for one thing: Madame Danglars.

If, as Eugénie had said, he was still after her… then that meant that he would still be in France - and chances are, that he would be heading for Paris. If nothing else, it was an idea of where to start.

Maximilien returned, clutching an unsteady tray of dainty cups and a tea pot, as well as a small jug of milk. They murmured their thanks as he began to pour, saying nothing as splashes escaped on more than one occasion.

Albert could see that Maximilien was barely holding himself together; but he thought he was doing an admirable job. After he had lost Franz… he had been an absolute wreck for days. Admittedly, it was hardly the same circumstances, but even so. He still remembered how utterly dedicated Maximilien had been to Valentine while she had been poisoned; how much he had been willing to risk in order to save her, and be with her. They had fought for their happiness and finally won it - only for this to happen.

But then, Albert thought a little sadly, life was harsh, and very rarely fair.


	5. Chapter 5

"Here," Maximilien passed them their tea, sliding the cups along the table as though he didn't trust himself to try and pick them up. He finally sat down himself, then, but appeared poised for action - as though he was ready to leap up at any second.

It was a tense half hour - they were all highly strung, and for the most part kept quiet; Maximilien especially so. Albert didn't think he had ever seen him look so empty and depressed - although behind all that, he was certain he could see the steely determination and _hope_ which persisted in shining through. He was not broken yet, and, Albert hoped, never would be.

A sharp rapping on the door made them all jump violently - Maximilien leaped up and was out the door into the hallway in seconds. Eugénie and Albert followed him, but remained in the doorway of the dining room, fearing they would otherwise be in the way. The maid's corpse lay a few feet away from them; Maximilien must have covered her with a white sheet while he was out fetching tea, for her still, frozen face and bloody uniform could no longer be seen.

They peered around the doorframe, to see Maximilien making his introductions with a man in the dark navy uniform of the Marseilles gendarmes. He was a middle-aged man, maybe fifty or so, with a thin grey moustache and a stern face.

He regarded Maximilien gravely, the focus of his eyes shifting briefly to the crumpled white mound which lay on the floor just beyond - but it elicited no reaction from him, other than a slight hardening of the mouth. "Call me d'Anton," he said quietly, but there was a subtle power to his voice; one that showed he commanded authority.

"Maximilien Morrell," the ex-soldier said, inclining his head, expression deadly serious and filled with a quiet urgency. He moved backwards into the hallway, inviting the other man in. D'Anton followed, but stopped when he reached the heap on the floor, crouching down to get a closer look.

"Would you please explain what happened here to me again? In as much detail as you can." The tone of his voice was not accusatory, which Albert was thankful for, but his cold detachedness was slightly unnerving.

"Yes," Maximilien agreed immediately, closing his eyes briefly in thought and taking a deep breath, "Monsieur de Morcerf and myself…" he nodded in Albert's direction, "left the house in the early afternoon - we were heading for the port, but decided to take the scenic root, as Albert is not familiar with the town." Maximilien swallowed with difficulty, the guilt etched in his voice. "We were gone a long time, I know. On the way there, we met up with Mademoiselle Danglars…" again he nodded in the other two's direction, "and we decided to return. When we arrived back at the house… the door was already open…" He trailed off, while d'Anton merely watched him silently, still crouched next to the dead girl.

Maximilien sighed, a deathly weary sound. "We rushed in, and found Marie…here… dead… I panicked and ran upstairs to look for Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort, but… they were gone." His eyes shone with unshed tears as he mentioned Valentine's name; it was clearly hurting him to stand here, doing so little.

"And do you have any idea who could have done this?" d'Anton's question was mild and directed at Maximilien, but it was Eugénie who stepped forwards, eyes blazing.

"Of course we do! And so should _you_," she scowled, eyes narrow and filled with anger at the man's silent non-reaction to hearing Maximilien's painful explanation. "In case you were somehow _unaware_, Andrea Cavalcanti is no longer imprisoned. In case you _didn't know_, everyone, including all of you lot evidently, have no idea where he is." Her mouth twisted into a smile, and she pointedly ignored the restraining hand that Albert had placed on her shoulder.

"Look, Eugénie--"

"Don't!" she interrupted him, still focused on d'Anton, who thus far had not responded to her words at all. "Look. Andrea Cavalcanti is _insane_, and has a vendetta against Valentine's father, and my mother. If Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort have suddenly gone missing - _conveniently_ while Cavalcanti is out on the loose, I think it's fairly easy to assume that, yes, we have an idea of who might have done it."

D'Anton merely nodded, and then reached forwards, lifting the edges of the now-stained white sheet, and pulling it back to reveal the grey-tinged pallor of the girl who had once been one of the Morrells' maids. Eugénie seethed above him, but he seemed to be pointedly ignoring her. Instead, he examined the dark, congealed gashes which spread across the body's chest and abdomen. Only two of them were very deep; the rest were shallow - probably desperate swipes from a distance. Her eyes were locked in an expression of surprised horror, evident despite the blankness that death had brought them. He gently shut her eyelids, and replaced the sheet.

"Show me the room where Madame Morrell and Monsieur de Villefort were taken from," he said briskly as he rose, looking behind him in slight irritation as Albert and Eugénie followed, their determination to stay with Maximilien obvious.

Albert was unsure what to think about d'Anton; on the one hand, he did seem like a very capable man, who would be able to handle things rationally and calmly. But on the other… he glanced surreptitiously at Eugénie, watching her has she glared openly at the gendarme ahead of them. Albert was inclined to agree with her - he hoped the man didn't know as little as he seemed, or they could be in for a long session; which, of course, would only delay them in their search for Valentine and Villefort.

Maximilien slowly - almost reluctantly - opened the familiar wooden door at the end of the upstairs hallway. Everything was exactly as it had been left earlier; an overturned chair, scattered books and papers, smashed china on the floor… d'Anton entered and scanned the room, as if he were searching for something.

The room glowed brightly in the false light, but nothing could rid it of the tense, ominous atmosphere which pervaded its every corner. D'Anton didn't seem to want to speak to any of them very much - instead, every so often he'd reach inside his pocked and pull out a small book to scribble quick notes in.

The gendarme stood, and, ignoring Albert and Eugénie completely, focused on Maximilien. "So, how do you think Madame Morrell and Monsieur de Villefort allowed themselves to be overpowered? What makes you so sure that it was just one person?"

Maximilien's entire countenance darkened, his brow creasing in anger, "_allowed themselves_? I take it, then, that you have not heard that Monsieur de Villefort is an invalid, and spends his days in a wheelchair, needing almost constant care. Valentine would not… would not have abandoned him." A faint spark of realisation lit up in his eyes, then, and he continued, "it would have been Monsieur de Villefort Cavalcanti was after. Valentine probably… probably wanted to be taken as well, just so she could try and look after him…" he broke off, clearly deeply troubled.

The gendarme was nodding slowly, still adding to the contents of his notebook, "do you have any idea where he might have gone now?" Although he was standing in front of Eugénie, Albert could practically _feel_ her anger radiating as d'Anton yet addressed this question to Maximilien.

"Oddly enough," she clearly, stepping around Albert and into the room, directing her gaze specifically on d'Anton, "we do. And if you weren't being such a--" she cut herself off when she felt Albert grab her arm from behind in warning; he was right, this wasn't really the right person to direct her anger towards, and though the possibility was slim, he might be able to help them find Valentine. "Well," she continued, calming herself, "as I mentioned earlier… Cavalcanti is also after my mother, Madame Danglars, who lives in Paris. So perhaps _that_ might be a good place to start looking."

The inspection and questioning took a long time; it was many hours before the gendarme left with Marie's body and, with promises of sending over a forensics team the next day. It was well past three am before any of them could retire to bed - but, unsurprisingly, Maximilien found that no sleep would come to him, when Valentine's side of the bed lay empty and cold. He shivered, very afraid. And, somewhere inside, there was a part of him that was already weeping.

----------------

Albert de Morcerf was not a morning person - anyone who knew him could tell you this; it was never a good idea to try and pay a visit to him before noon, because he simply wouldn't be up. And even then, when he finally did appear, it would be reluctantly and while still yawning. On this particular morning, however, Albert found that he just couldn't sleep. He awoke early, with a heavy feeling of dread settled in his stomach. He lay in bed for a while, burrowed down under the soft duvet as he thought about what they were going to have to do. His face was dark and pensive, shrouded in shadows by the covers pulled up by his head.

What were they going to do if… if…

He couldn't bring himself to finish that thought; no, Valentine had to be fine - she just had to be.

He was abruptly shocked out of his downbeat thoughts by a loud pounding on his door, and a voice yelling at him, shouting at him to… what? It took a moment to register, but he finally realised that it was Eugénie's voice, commanding him to get up and get ready. He slid out of bed, wincing as a sharp pain suddenly made itself known, stabbing at the side of his head, determined and persistent. It was six am.

When he made it outside, brown hair mussed and sloppily dressed, he found Maximilien and Eugénie waiting for him in the hallway. Both looked worn down and weary – Maximilien especially so; he had dark circles under his eyes, and Albert got the feeling that, in fact, he had never been to bed at all. Eugénie wasn't any better off; her face was pale and tense, her brow furrowed in worry, and she took a minute to focus on him once she realised he was there.

"Albert…" her voice wavered a little as she spoke, and she fiddled with a silver ring on her finger, as if she didn't know what to do with her hands. Something else had happened; he knew it immediately. Could see it in the pained emotions in her eyes, and he walked over beside them, looking between them anxiously.

"What's happened?" He couldn't help but feel useless; he was not as involved with all of this as they were, and it pained him that he had to watch them like this, see them go through this torture. Maximilien's expression was stoic, but Albert could see the anger in his eyes.

"There… there was a video call from Andrea Cavalcanti." Her voice was quiet, but oddly calm.

"What! When?" The question exploded from him, anger and shock darkening his blue eyes – that Cavalcanti had dared – had dared to…

She took in a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly. "Just half an hour ago. He… he wanted to talk to me." Albert stared at her in disbelief.

"To… to say _what_?" He clenched his fists unconsciously, unable to believe that Eugénie had had to face _him_, after all that he had done to her – and, evidently, planned to do. Maximilien was staying oddly quiet; he watched them sadly, and sat down heavily on a nearby chair. Dawn was breaking, and the first faint strains of sunlight were attempting to light up the shadowed hallway. Eugénie looked almost ghostly in the new light, her pale eyes darting from Albert to the floor, as she seemed to be debating with herself whether or not to look at him.

"Well… as we knew, he has Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort. He won't say where. His surroundings look bare and basic, from what we could tell – though considering he lost his fortune, I suppose that's not really surprising… you know, I wonder if—"

"_Eugénie_," Albert interrupted, frowning – he could tell she was reluctant to talk about it, but he wasn't prepared to let her go off on delaying tangents when it was clearly something important.

"Yes, yes…" she sighed, and gave him a small, fearful smile, "I… I don't know why… but he wants me as well." A small shudder ran through her body, and she hugged her arms around herself. "His… his smile, and his _laugh_…"

For a moment, Albert couldn't breathe. How could this be happening? This wasn't… Eugénie was supposed to be _safe_, and happy – that's why she'd gone away to New York; that's why she'd left him…

After a short pause, she continued, "we have to leave very soon, you know. He's still after my mother, and we _must_ find Valentine and her father as soon as possible. That look on his face, Albert… if he got angry, I don't believe he'd think twice about…"

"No." His voice rang out in the silent hallway, flat and loud. His mouth was set in a hard line, and there was steely determination in his eyes.

"Wh – what?" Eugénie was watching him uncertainly, lips slightly parted in surprise.

He shook his head, ignoring both looks of confusion he was receiving, "no. You're not going, Eugénie."

The sound of the loud slap that followed seemed to echo for an age. He flinched, blinking in shock as a bright red imprint made itself known upon his cheek. Eugénie was glaring at him, the fury in her eyes not at all softened by the few tears that were also gathering there.

"How _dare_ you?" she gestured angrily, turning from him suddenly as though she couldn't bear to look. "This – this is my _mother_ at risk. And _Valentine_. Where would you suggest I go, hm? Stay here? Oh – wait – that's probably too dangerous too. Back to New York? Where I could just _sit_, and _worry_, and make myself sick with the knowledge that maybe I could have done something, but instead my friends and family could be _dying_ at the hands of a madman, just so I could be safe?"

Albert found he couldn't speak, and turned sorrowful eyes towards Eugénie who, it seemed, had just about finished her tirade. Maximilien was looking on still in concern, gaze focused on the livid young woman.

"I… I'm sorry." His shoulders sagged slightly in defeat, and he could feel her anger fade somewhat. "I… Eugénie, don't you understand? If you go after him… what if you're just walking straight into his trap? This _must_ be what he wants you to do… and… and if I can't do anything…" he trailed off, his throat suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight.

When she spoke again, her voice was unexpectedly soft, but still determined and strangely calm. "You think I don't know that? Albert… it's not your duty to save me every time I get into trouble. I…" her voice wavered a little, as some of the anger returned, "of _course_ I'm afraid of him. Even just _thinking_ about what he's done…" she took breath, "the point is, Albert, that this isn't about me, and it's not about you. Poor Valentine… must be so afraid. Angering Cavalcanti by running away is probably the worst thing I could do right now."

Albert was looking at the floor, unable to meet her eyes as she exposed his selfishness. Because in spite of… in spite of everything she had said, Albert still found himself wishing that she was somewhere – _anywhere_ – else, just so long as she was safe. A soft brush against his cheek brought his gaze up, and he found Eugénie looking at him sadly. It was strange, really, to consider themselves now, and how much they had changed in just a few short years. But Eugénie had always been strong, and determined; he knew that, had known if for a long time. She let her hand drop away, but her eyes lingered on his.

"I'm sorry. But you know that I have to do this." Silently, after a moment, he nodded, and she smiled at him.

Maximilien stood up and smiled at them wearily. "Well… I'll go and see about some tea and breakfast before we decide what it is we need to do next. They nodded gratefully, and as Maximilien headed off in the direction of the kitchens, Albert and Eugénie instead made their way to the dining room.

Dawn had broken, though the room was still quite dark. The house felt silent and empty, a foreboding, uncomfortable feeling making the silence feel aggressive. They took their seats at the end nearest the door, determined not to let this get the best of them.

It seemed Eugénie, though, did not really want to let the subject of their previous conversation go so easily. Albert sat staring solemnly at his hands, lost in dark thoughts until the blonde girl seemed to almost read his mind.

"It's not like with Franz, you know," she said quietly, watching him cautiously. She was unconsciously playing with her ring again, and Albert knew, as soon as she said it, that she was anxious about his response.

He almost laughed at the bitterness that welled up inside of him; that she could read him so well, that she could know…

"That has nothing to do with this." And it _hurt_, hurt so much to think about it, even now. Hurt to remember the pained, ragged breathing; hurt to remember the blood he couldn't stop, which just kept _coming_, seeping through the desperately made makeshift bandages; hurt to remember his own raw scream, still ringing in his ears; and it hurt to remember… no, it was excruciating to remember the light in those soft brown eyes fading, until there was nothing there at all.

He bit his lip sharply, struggling to prevent the hot tears from spilling down onto his cheeks. And suddenly he was angry with Eugenie, so angry, for making him remember it all so vividly – even though she was right. Because… because… always, at the back of his mind… what if it happened to her, too?

"Yes, it does." The look she gave him only irritated him, because it was so full of _pity_.

He stared fixedly at the table, pretending to find the dark grain of the wood fascinating.

"You can't blame yourself forever, you know," she continued relentlessly, and all the while Albert just wished she would stop talking about it. He knew that he had never got over it, not really; it was just something that he had tried to control; push to the back of his mind. "…and trying to be my hero won't help you feel any better about what happened then either." It hurt. It hurt a lot, and Albert didn't think he'd ever resented Eugénie as much as he did right then.

"No," he managed to choke out at last, hating the compassion in her cloudy grey eyes, "that's not how it is." He stood up abruptly, his chair falling back to clatter against the floor. "You… and Franz… it's different."

The blonde girl just shrugged and raised an eyebrow, "if you say so," her voice utterly nonchalant, as though completely oblivious to Albert's agitation.

Albert found that he was trembling slightly, and watched Eugénie angrily for a few moments, before turning and striding from the room. He had no idea where he was going, as he turned sharply in the corridor and headed for the front door - he just knew that he had to get away, get out, get some fresh air…

So early in the morning, the garden was naturally extremely chilly. He buried his hands in his pockets as he wandered along the path which ran parallel with the front of the house, breath escaping in puffs of warm air from his mouth. There was a thin sheen of early frost still covering the lawn and flowers; though it looked pretty and sparkled in the light of the rising sun, Albert knew that a few more nights like this, and soon there wouldn't be many flowers left at all.

He appreciated the peace and the silence as he turned to walk down the side path next to the house. Although he hated to admit it, what Eugénie had said was bothering him, undeniably. Was it all true? Was the only reason he was so obsessed with keeping Eugénie safe because of what had happened with Franz?

…perhaps.

He scuffed the grassy ground with his shoe as he walked; half out of petulance, half subconsciously.

_Franz_…

Even now, he still found it difficult to think about what had happened. About the fact that Franz had died for him - and willingly. He had died in Albert's arms, with a smile on his face.

_But he deserved so much more_.

The most painful thing about it, though, was that he knew he could have stopped it. Could have saved him. If he'd just woken up a bit sooner; if he'd just run a bit faster; if he'd just…

He pushed open the creaky wooden back gate and slipped through, gazing up at all the tall, spindly trees and bushes. The morning did not seem to be promising good weather - but, he supposed, chances are whatever they decided, today would be spent travelling at least.

Albert walked over to one of the wooden benches and sat down, chin resting on his hands, expression pensive.

"Albert!" The call drifted faintly to his ears from somewhere inside, "Albert!"

He supposed, with a grimace, that it was a sign that breakfast was ready - though to be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure that his body would want to accept any food; his stomach growled, but recoiled at the thought of it. He stood up reluctantly, and made his way back around the house and into the hallway.

Eugénie was sitting quietly with her back facing the door when he entered the room; Albert was quite glad, for he wasn't sure what he could possibly say to her after the way their earlier conversation had finished. The line of her shoulders seemed stiff, and she didn't look up as he came inside. Only Maximilien, was who sitting nearby and pouring him a cup of tea focused on him (and just gave him a very slight, weary smile)

"So…" he said, accepting the steaming cup with a quiet murmur of thanks, "what do you think we should… all… do?" If Eugénie objected to his hesitation over the word 'all', she refused to show it.

"Well…" Maximilien took a deep breath, "we can't really afford to wait any longer. It's… it's getting far too late, and Cavalcanti…" he trailed off, but then shook his head and forced himself to continue, "so, we leave before the forensics team comes. I know we'd be wanted here, but… it's not fair on Valentine." His jaw was set, eyes deadly serious. "First, we head to Paris. I think we should stay with Madame Danglars, even if that is what Cavalcanti is expecting; we have to try and keep her as safe as possible. And, safety in numbers to some extent, I suppose."

Eugénie was nodding, eyes glinting with worry, "I agree. Cavalcanti will have to be keeping Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort somewhere near Paris, so my mother's house can double as a place to search from, too."

They both looked at him questioningly as Albert didn't respond – to be perfectly honest, he did agree that what they proposed sounded like the best course of action, but, conversely… despite her objections, something in him did still balk at the thought of Eugénie coming along.

He forced himself to speak, "yes, yes… of course." Because no matter what his feelings were on the matter, it was Valentine's safety that truly mattered the most at the moment, as he was willing to do anything it would take to help get her back.

If Maximilien and Eugénie noticed how distracted he was, they didn't say anything. They merely nodded to each other, expressions set in fierce determination.

"All right," Maximilien said seriously, "we leave in an hour. Eugénie, are you okay to drive?" She gave him a small smile, and retrieved her gloves from her pocket.

"Of course," she pulled them on briskly, and stood up, turning to face Albert, "we don't know how long this will take, so don't forget to pack."

Albert rested his head on his arms tiredly as he watched Eugénie and Maximilien leave the room. He knew he should get up, and return to his room to sort out his things, but…

His stomach felt as though it was twisted into a knot, and the tension in his neck refused to go away. It was so hard to believe that all of this was happening; he had thought that all the remnants from that time were either gone or finished – and, he thought… thought that maybe, he'd finally come to terms with it all. And yet… it seemed that one part of that nightmarish summer was determined to dredge up the past again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes**: You know, feedback is welcome, even though it will get updated regardless. ;)

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Andrea Cavalcanti. Benedetto. The name tasted bitter in his mouth, and every time he closed his eyes he could see that sneering mouth, twisted into a mocking smile, laughing at him for what he had done to Eugénie. Could see that immaculate blond hair, falling over his expensive suits, helping him to pretend to be someone he wasn't.

But… in many ways that made it harder to think about him; sometimes it struck him that Cavalcanti _did_ look uncannily like Eugenie; that hair colour, that nose… even something about the eyes. He wondered how he had not noticed it, before.

Albert bit his lip and realised that he had been daydreaming, wasting time. Reluctantly he stood up, and made his way back to his room. His case lay open on the floor, and he dragged it up on the bed, before walking over to the windows and pulling open the heavy curtains which still darkened the room. It was a fair day, but slightly overcast, and did nothing to help Albert's mood.

He collected his things from the dressing table, catching a glimpse of himself in the large mirror as he did so. Albert had never been vain – indeed, he rarely had cause to consider his own appearance at all – but his reflection shocked him all the same. He had thought Eugénie and Maximilien had looked worse for wear – but he realised now that he looked just as bad. His blue eyes were surrounded by dark shadows, and his face looked drawn and pale. Though he'd combed his hair quickly when he had first got up, it now looked so unruly you could barely tell.

He sighed and turned back towards the bed, tossing the items in his hands gently into the case. He was just about to start collecting his clothes together, when he heard a soft knock sound on his door.

"Come in," he said curiously, and looked up as the door creaked open and Camille stuck his head through timidly, giving Albert a worried smile before stepping inside.

"Ahh, Monsieur…" he began quietly, as though not entirely sure he should be there, "there was talk… talk that you were going away."

Albert tried to busy himself with arranging the contents of his suitcase as Camille looked on in concern. He felt more than slightly guilty about abandoning his driver here, but what else could he do?

"I'm sorry…" he turned to face the younger man, and he couldn't hide the regret that showed in his eyes, "but, you know it's very urgent – personal business, and we'll need to take a car, so… but if there were another way…" It struck him then that he would miss Camille; had become accustomed to his cheery presence over the last year.

"A car?" Camille looked almost insulted, and Albert couldn't help but smile. The other man sighed a little, and looked far more youthful than even he should, "of course, I will do whatever you want. Wait here, or…" he refused to meet Albert's eyes then, dark hair falling into his eyes, "will you be gone long?"

Albert's reply was interrupted by his door swinging open again; this time without a knock preceding it, so of course it had to be Eugénie. She looked slightly surprised as she came in and found Albert with company – but of course she had not been at the house when Albert had arrived, and so had not been aware of Camille's quiet presence.

"Hopefully not," he said more confidently than he felt, continuing his conversation with his driver, "so, if you just stay here in the meantime…" Camille hesitated and then bowed, and gave him a look he couldn't quite read before swiftly exiting the room, leaving Albert and Eugénie alone.

"…who was that?" Eugénie sounded puzzled and slightly wary for some reason that Albert couldn't fathom.

"Ah, just my driver… I came here in a carriage, you see, so he's been with me for a while now." Albert returned to packing, and opened drawers in the dressing table to remove the folded clothes.

"…has he now…" Albert paused, looking up at Eugénie from where he crouched with slightly narrowed eyes and confusion in his voice.

"…and what's that supposed to mean?" He shoved the draws shut abruptly and returned to the bed, trying to fit everything into the case despite its objections. Albert pushed down on the top with one hand, while attempting to shut the clips with the other, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

"Just -- you know -- are you good… friends?"

That caught his attention, and his grip on the suitcase slipped, causing it to spring open violently.

"W-what?" His lips parted in surprise, eyebrows raised above slightly confused blue eyes; Albert was seriously hoping he'd misconstrued her comment. He felt his stomach sink as she seemed to find her own answer in his hesitation, and her voice when she next spoke was slightly uneven.

"I see. Well… oh -- I suppose that must mean… wait, Franz and you? I--"

Albert's eyes widened as he saw where her train of thought was leading, and momentarily panicked, interrupting her. "Look, Eugénie, it's not--"

She shook her head hurriedly, blonde curls bouncing, "please, no… it's all right… look, we have to leave in a few minutes, I'll -- I'll see you out front with Maximilien." And with that, she dashed out of the room without sparing him another look.

Albert rubbed at his temples wearily and sighed. He hadn't quite understood what she was getting at initially - and by the time he'd realised… well, she'd already drawn her own conclusions. He frowned, lost in thought as he returned his attentions to his rebellious suitcase which still rested open on the bed.

It was patently ridiculous, wasn't it? Wasn't it? He bit his lip and sat down on top of the case heavily, chin resting on one hand. Why would she have come to that conclusion in the first place? Surely he'd never given the impression that… well, there had been his infatuation with the Count, he had to admit. But that was -- that was _different_, right?

And Franz… why had she mentioned Franz? Surely she knew that there had never been anything between the three of them other than friendship? He and Franz had never made it look as though they… had they?

Suddenly, Albert felt very uncomfortable that perhaps, although Eugénie's assumptions were still very untrue, they were maybe not quite as illogically unfounded as he first thought.

With a heavy sigh he looked down, and noticed that, finally, the case was shut. Snapping the catches and fastening up the strap, he jumped off in relief, glad they could finally get going. Although he knew, at some point, that he was going to have to have a certain conversation with Eugénie. He hefted his suitcase up off the bed, and dragged it with difficulty out to the front door, where Maximilien and Eugenie were waiting impatiently.

"Sorry," he murmured, but Eugénie wasn't meeting his eyes, and Maximilien was pacing distractedly.

"Right! Now we're all here, let's go," the young woman said, a new burst of energy suffusing her voice, brought on by the promise of action. She looked at Maximilien and nodded, but still avoided Albert. He gripped his suitcase handle tightly, annoyed and embarrassed by the persistent misunderstanding. But he couldn't' possibly say anything here, not while…

He shook his head and followed the other two outside to where Eugénie's car waited still, hefting his case into the back once Maximilien opened the boot. The blonde girl had jumped straight into the driver's seat, where she waited impatiently for the two men to join her. With a loud slam, the boot was shut, and Albert took his place in the back, while Maximilien sat beside Eugénie in the front.

It was sixteen minutes past eight in the morning when they finally left, gravel being churned out up onto the dewy grass as Eugénie hit the accelerator with less restraint than she had showed in a long while. The sky was noncommittal, verging on promising rain one minute, and sun the next - but most of the time, it settled on blank grey clouds.

The gates swung slowly shut on the entrance to the driveway of the Morrells' home, and Maximilien knew that he would rather die than return through them without Valentine. Eugénie obviously shared this sense of urgency, keeping them to the quiet back roads so that she could speed along recklessly without any real threat of getting caught.

The wind was picking up, and a chill was starting to set in, so they finally raised the roof to try and keep some warmth in. Albert was certainly glad for it; he'd become more accustomed to travelling in his carriage - and though he did frequently exit to sit at the front with Camille, it certainly never went at the insane speeds of a car like Eugénie's.

The roads stretched out before them, and Albert couldn't help but wonder that perhaps it might have been better to go by plane; Paris was a long way from Marseille… but Eugénie and Maximilien seemed focused and determined on what they were doing, so he supposed for the moment it would be best to leave them to it - since Maximilien would never to anything to compromise the safety of Valentine.

They passed solely through countryside for a very long time; it was clear Eugénie was avoiding as many of the main roads as possible - green stretched out on either side of them for miles at a time. However, eventually continuing on this way became impossible, and so they were forced to slow down once they reached more urban areas.

Eugénie made a sound of annoyance as they hit their first real delay; a small road accident a few hours out of Marseille. Albert could see her scanning the road, searching for an opening they could take to get them past this with minimum trouble. Having spent so much time with Eugénie in the car before, Albert knew that something like this wouldn't take her long - and, sure enough, within a few minutes Eugénie had weaved them in and out safely around the delay, and they were soon speeding back on their way.

They were still travelling even as night fell. Eugénie was driving with a kind of fierce, focused determination that Albert had never quite seen in her before - it was as though she would stop for nothing or nobody. Silence had long since become the usual for the journey; idle chatter was something that none of them felt up to, and they had long since exhausted any useful kind of discussion about what might await them at their destination.

Albert knew that there was no intention of stopping. They'd pause in the journey rarely - only when a brief break was truly necessary. He'd heard Eugénie quietly talking over the driving plan with Maximilien earlier; one could drive, while the other slept. It suddenly made him feel immensely guilty, and somewhat useless, since he was the only one who wouldn't be able to help to share those responsibilities.

An hour later, and Maximilien was in the driver's seat, eyes focused on the dark road ahead, ground lit only by the piercing beams of the car's headlamps. Eugenie was taking the opportunity to rest, head tilted back against the seat, eyes shut and face relaxed. It seemed apparent to Albert that she _must_ be asleep, since it was the first time in a couple of days that he had seen her lose that perpetually worried look that seemed to permanently reside in her face.

The darkness did nothing to help his mood; combined with the silence and protracted periods of simply sitting and doing nothing, it seemed almost like a conspiracy to force him to brood. Because… no matter what, he simply couldn't push that conversation he'd had earlier with Eugenie out of his mind. Why had she been acting like that? What exactly had brought it all on?

It really can't have seemed that odd to her that he was travelling with Camille; the man was, after all, his _driver_ - and Eugénie knew full well that Albert could not drive himself. (A fact which stared him embarrassingly in the face now, and which he was determined to remedy as soon as possible) So… what, then? Obviously, this was something that had been lurking at the back of her mind for quite a while - and she had… oh, she had mentioned Franz.

Albert sighed and slouched down in his seat, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes in frustration, willing for everything to go away.

Franz. Yes, it was still painful, even after confronting the memory of his friend so many times. He still kept Franz's letter with him, though he'd never told anyone - and probably wouldn't, even if they thought to ask. But - Eugénie. She thought… she thought that he and Franz… that _Franz_…

But that was impossible, wasn't it? Impossible that those bright, warm eyes, that happy smile, those curving lips, that honest face…

He still remembered the day that they had met, at the funeral of Franz's father. He vividly recalled the upset little blond boy he'd followed round the back and sought out to play with. It had started then; their friendship, that is. But… a thousand little events and moments were coming back to him, and all of a sudden, things were visible in a whole new light.

It wasn't an earth shattering revelation, Albert would think later, it was a powerful, creeping feeling which sneaked up on him and stole his breath away. He felt hollow; empty, and sick to his stomach. It wasn't a realisation which lifted a weight from his shoulders, no - instead he felt as though he was being crushed under these new thoughts.

Albert was used to feeling as though he was somehow missing something; that he was naïve, oblivious - so many people had thought of him that way… and though over the past few years he thought he had finally matured, and moved on - in a lot of ways, it definitely seemed he had not. He felt his faults sorely now, bringing his knees up to rest his chin on them, eyes cracking open to look up out of the window at the starry sky above.

How could he… have been so blind?

It affected nothing, he knew that. Even looking back on everything, he had to admit to himself that if he _had_ known, what would have changed? Would anything have gone differently? Probably… not. Albert knew he had been too absorbed in Eugénie to consider Franz's love-life - apart from to know all too well that his friend did not want to be engaged to Valentine.

He felt the familiar waves of guilt and anger wash over him - now, this was something he was used to. And it wouldn't pass, it never did - but it would fade, and gradually slip to the back of his mind until the next time. Guilt, at not having been able to save him. At being the reason Franz ended up taking part in that idiotic duel anyway. At constantly arguing with him and wasting so much of the little time they didn't realise they had left together. And anger; at Franz for being so reckless and stupid and selfish and selfless and---

Albert drew in a shuddering breath, suddenly desperately glad that Maximilien and Eugénie -- oh especially Eugénie -- were sitting in the front. Thinking of Franz always brought on his fear of losing those dear to him, and their presence was a comfort, although the thought of what might be happening to Valentine chilled him. He tried to clear his mind, but found that it wouldn't become blank so easily now. He still needed some time to consider what he'd realised, and absorb the impact, but he also knew that, now more than ever, he truly needed to have a talk with the blonde girl.

Almost on cue, Eugénie began to stir and sleepily opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.

Albert said nothing, as he knew he would. Now was not the time; Eugénie was yawning and gesturing tiredly ahead of them, quietly asking Maximilien a question. Albert couldn't quite catch what they were saying, but saw Maximilien shake his head as Eugénie pleaded - knowing her, he guessed she must be trying to persuade Maximilien to let her drive again. But it was still dark, and Eugénie still looked like she hadn't slept in a week, so Albert supposed that it was for the best.

It was quite a long time before he managed to fall asleep himself; distracting thoughts plagued his mind, and made it difficult to relax. Eventually, though, exhaustion won out and he drifted into a light, uneasy sleep.

When he awoke with a slight jump, it was dawn, and Eugénie was back behind the wheel. The sky was pale and translucent; streaks of pink smeared the blue, and an overlay of dappled grey clouds threatened eventual rain. A quick glance around through half closed eyes determined that though they were still travelling through the countryside, it was nowhere near as rural as it had been around Marseille. There were trees and fields, yes - but buildings and farmhouses dotted the landscape, and the horizon held the promise of a densely populated area.

He sat up with a slight groan, the small of his back aching annoyingly from having fallen asleep in such an awkward position. Albert was squinting from the low rising sun shining almost directly in his eyes, and felt mussed and like he needed nothing quite as much as a good shower. In all he had certainly felt better. Eugénie glanced back briefly as she heard him wake up, before returning her attention to the road as they sped up a little more.

"Maximilien's still asleep," she said quietly, and he saw a shiver run through her, the morning chill still vicious at this hour. He nodded, shrugging lightly to indicate he had no intention of making any kind of noise. Silence reigned again, and he stifled a yawn against the back of his hand.

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully; Maximilien and Eugénie continued to share the driving, and Albert continued to ponder his own thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

It was easier than Albert had thought it would be to return to Paris. In his mind the roads and buildings of the city had become some sort of painful unnecessary memory best forgotten - but, passing them all by, he realised that despite everything, it still felt like coming home. It was gone midday by the time they reached the city centre; it was still a busy and bustling city, vibrant and lively. It seemed almost unfair, really - after that summer, and especially considering what was happening _now_, somewhere around here most likely - that it was so; in his imagination, it had always been somewhat more… subdued.

Albert couldn't help but feel a strange twist in his chest when he saw how the city had been rebuilt - after his father's… irrational? Insane? (He was never quite sure) rage, parts of Paris, even landmarks, had been decimated. Afterwards, it had been an awful scene to look upon; smoking piles of rubble that had once been beloved buildings; the head of a statue from an eighteenth century sculpture; the scarred and scorched remains of half of the Tuilleries. Years on, though, and no signs seemed to remain. On the surface, at least, Paris was… normal.

Eugénie appeared to be looking all around her, examining the various streets they passed for their name signs.

"Right…" she muttered, concentrating on weaving in and out of the reckless Parisian traffic, "my mother's apartment should be around here somewhere…"

The trees which lined the street were tall and spindly, their leaves fluttering down in front of the car as they passed by. It wasn't too long before Eugénie let out a pleased exclamation, and turned sharply down a road on their left.

When they pulled up outside, Albert would have to admit to being a little surprised. He knew that there was no way Madame Danglars would have stayed in their old house, but even so, he would not have thought a building like this to her taste: from the outside, it was quite unassuming, and did not look like a large place at all. Indeed, as it turned out, Madame Danglars was in fact living in a set of apartments; stylish, expensive-looking apartments, it was true - but nothing compared to her previous life.

After waiting outside the heavy front door, wind briskly whipping around their already freezing cold bodies, a faintly crackling voice emerged from a box next to the door.

"Who is it?" Eugénie looked faintly surprised, but Albert was definitely glad to see that Madame Danglars was taking her security quite seriously, and he could see from Maximilien's expression that he agreed as well.

"It's Eugénie," she answered cautiously, "and Albert and Maximilien are with me, too." There was a pause, as though the voice on the other end needed a moment to stop and consider. But then, there was an unassuming 'click', and the latch on the door released, and it began to swing open.

They walked up a long, dark flight of stairs and then down the corridor until they finally came to Madame Danglars' rooms - another quiet knock on the door by Eugénie, and soon the white door was flung open, and she was enveloped by a very emotional Madame Danglars. Albert and Maximilien stood back as the older woman sobbed, clinging to her daughter as though she'd never see her again.

"Oh, mother…" Eugénie's voice was a little exasperated, but her affection shone through regardless, as she gently returned her mother's hugs. It was odd, really, Albert couldn't help but think - on the surface, Eugénie really didn't seem to care for her parents at all, and never had. But, her mother… perhaps it was that she was alone now, or that Eugénie suddenly realised her importance once she was threatened - or, if that was a little uncharitable, perhaps she had felt that way all along, but… Eugénie's affection was apparent now, and she gave her mother a small smile as the woman ushered them all inside.

"Ah, Albert, Maximilien…" she sniffed, clearly not ecstatic to see them, but it was evident that _those_ events and the subsequent years had dulled her snobbery somewhat.

Once they stepped inside, it was immediately apparent that however Madam Danglars apartments might have looked from the outside, within it was a completely different story. Beautifully woven Arabian rugs and delicate Chinese vases; stylish sofas and a silken chaise longue; lavishly decorated walls and fine art everywhere. It was all Albert could do not to stare, and he could practically feel Maximilien's incredulity emanating off him.

How on earth could she afford all of this? It was certain that Monsieur Danglars had gone irreparably bankrupt - and nobody knew his current whereabouts, so for all intents and purposes Madame Danglars had become a widow. And, by all rights, she should be a poor widow, too.

"So…" She led them through to the sitting room; a warmly lit area with pale yellow walls. Eugénie's hand had been commandeered by her mother, and so the blonde girl was forced to sit down close beside her, looking slightly uncomfortable, though putting on a weak smile. "I don't suppose I need to tell you what's been going on… I still can't believe it myself - after all, my… my _son_!" Madame Danglars drew in a deep breath and shuddered, shutting her eyes as though in pain, brow furrowed.

"Mother…" Eugénie leaned forward a little, compassion in her eyes, "don't do this… he's not-- you didn't _know_--"

"Didn't I, didn't I…" she muttered under her breath, gaze hardly focused as she gestured wildly with a handkerchief. "My son! Back to find me again… they say he's insane, you know. That he's sick, and dangerous. But no one can find him! And the police barely do a thing!"

"Shh, mother… calm down," she whispered softly to Madame Danglars, squeezing her hand comfortingly, "we're all here now, and we'll find out where Cavalcanti's keeping Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort, and we'll sort this out once and for all."

But it seemed that she would not be consoled, and it was with anguished cries of, "oh Andrea! My Andrea…" escaping from her lips that Eugénie firmly but gently stood her up, and led her away to bed.

Albert shook his head and slumped back in his seat, Maximilien doing the same. They could hear the faint noise of Madame Danglars' fretting even from here, and wondered how long she had been like this. Albert ran a hand through his hair and took to studying the walls; anything to keep from focusing his mind too much on a man he wanted nothing more than to forget.

"How long… do you think she's been like this?" he said quietly, unable to image her being able to cope with this on her own, if this was how she reacted once she finally got some company. He knew Maximilien would be shrugging, even though he wasn't looking the other man's way.

"Who knows…" the voice was flat and heavy, and Albert cracked open an eye to see that Maximilien was staring darkly at cabinet which lay half open across the other side of the room - it was clearly filled with as many different spirits and liqueurs as could be crammed inside. Small empty glasses populated the top, many fallen over.

"Ah." Albert fell silent again, suddenly becoming frustrated at how powerless and useless he felt. Maximilien was looking more and more miserable with each passing hour, and he just hated knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop that. "Look…" he began, but his friend interrupted him.

"Albert, please. If you're going to say you're sorry, _don't_. It… you know none of this is your fault. If it's anyone's, it's mine--" he held up a hand in to ask for him to wait a moment as Albert tried to protest, "--and every moment that passes, I'm worrying about her. Worrying for our _baby_. Just hoping that… somehow… I'll manage to make everything turn out all right."

He fell silent again, and all Albert could do was nod mutely; Maximilien was still a man of few words, but his succinct and straightforward nature affected Albert more deeply than a flowery speech ever could.

They both looked up as the overhead lights clicked on; Eugénie was standing in the doorway, leaning tiredly on the frame and watching them with a troubled expression on her face.

"Eugénie…" Albert couldn't help it, couldn't keep the concern from his voice. "Are you… how's your mother?"

She attempted to smooth some of the wrinkles out of the front of her dress absent mindedly, and crossed the room to sit across from her friends. "Well… she's resting now, anyway," Eugénie said, mouth twisting into a slight forced smile, "but I really don't think she's well. All this business with Cavalcanti… she's fixated on him, and there's nothing I can do!" She wrung her hands anxiously, "she was calling for Andrea, again and again… it's almost as though she _wants_ to see him, but at the same time is terrified of what he'll do to her."

Eugénie regarded them soberly, leaning forward, arms resting on her knees. The news of how Madame Danglars was taking all of this disturbed Albert greatly, especially since the woman was one of the few who'd had contact with him - and the last thing they needed was her unwittingly encouraging Cavalcanti somehow.

They sat in tense silence for quite a while; the only sound was the quiet, regular ticking of the old grandfather clock which stood in the corner of the room. Albert fidgeted, unable to keep still, before finally giving in and getting up to pace back and forth in front of the window which faced out onto the street.

The road was surprisingly quiet - but then, it was not one of the more popular residential streets in Paris; just a cobbled, homely area, and quite unassuming - which was probably why Madame Danglars had chosen it in the first place. In the weeks following Monsieur Danglars' bankruptcy and disappearance, she had kept as much out of the public spotlight as possible - as far as Albert knew, she had permitted no visitors apart from Eugénie, and then Lucien, too.

Aha - Lucien. It then occurred to Albert that there could be the answer to their questions about Madame Danglars' apparent great wealth… if the quiet, gossiped rumours were true, and Lucien _had_ been doing more than keeping her company; helping Madame Danglars to invest and speculate with some of her own money, then she could well have managed to secure herself financially.

Well, knowing Lucien as he did, it was entirely likely. He glanced away from the window to take in the expensive looking furniture and various art pieces. Of course, it was really none of his business, but still…

He jumped as he suddenly realised that Eugénie was standing right behind him, looking over his shoulder to stare despondently out of the window. The weather was brightening up nicely - in some ways, it felt horribly out of place that such pleasant spring weather was the backdrop to the awful events that had been going on recently. He reached up and rested a hand on her shoulder gently - he wasn't exactly sure what she must be going through, in regards to the threat to herself and her mother… but he hoped he could offer some small measure of comfort, even if he would try, only to fail.

Eugénie noticed this, of course, and her lips curved gratefully, ever so slightly; though her eyes still looked tired, and slightly rimmed with red as though she had been crying. But Albert, though he knew such thoughts at this time were completely inappropriate, couldn't help but think that she still… looked utterly beautiful. Ever since they were all small, he'd thought of Eugénie as being tough and strong; capable of handling anything. And this was certainly true, as she had demonstrated admirably the past few days, but… he could still see the underlying vulnerability that wavered in her eyes; that she was _scared_, and not quite as fine as she always tried to make out.

It was Eugénie who, at last, broke their mutually imposed silence. "Well…" she said, voice sounding slightly hollow and flat. "I know it's still only quite early, but… I know I certainly didn't get much sleep last night, and I'm sure we could all do with some rest. This place isn't really all that big, as I'm sure you can see… so you and Albert and sharing a room, if that's okay, Maximilien."

The tall ex-soldier nodded, and stood up. "That's fine with me, thank you, Eugénie." He looked around slightly questioningly, and she smiled, gesturing over towards the door farthest from them.

"It's through there, first door on the left." He inclined his head in gratitude, and then turned and began to make his way back towards the front door.

"I'll go and fetch all the luggage from the car, so don't you two worry about them." Both Albert and Eugénie started to protest, but Maximilien waved their concerns away with a smile, and disappeared from view.

Eugénie sighed and bit her lip, returning to gazing disinterestedly out of the window. "It's just… how does he do it?" she whispered helplessly, turning sorrowful eyes towards Albert. " After everything…Valentine…and the baby…and Villefort…and yet he's still…"

"I know," Albert replied, almost brokenly - he knew it was difficult for them all, but for Maximilien… the pain must be immeasurable.

Suddenly, though, without knowing who moved where or what happened first, Eugénie was right in front of him and they were embracing tightly, desperately, as though the other might disappear for good any second. She had her arms wrapped around his waist, and his lips drew just about level with her forehead. Eugénie rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes squeezing them shut as though to try and block out the whole world.

"Albert…" her voice was hesitant, and Albert pressed a kiss on top of her blonde curls in response. He felt conflicted himself, but the warmth of Eugénie settled against him, and the feeling that things hadn't felt this normal between them in years held him back from saying anything.

And so, the two clung to each other in the quiet room, content merely with the close, comforting presence. A few moments later, though, the front door slammed and they instinctively drew apart. Maximilien entered the drawing room soon after, piled high with bags.

"Here, let me get some of those…" Albert hurried over, relieving his friend of some of the burden.

"Thanks… there's more of those stairs than you think!" Maximilien managed to crack a small, weary smile, and then turned and went to seek out the room that Eugénie had designated for him and Albert.

Albert noticed that Eugénie was watching them quietly, thoughtfully, as they left the room. He knew he had to return, as now more than ever it seemed obvious that they needed to have a discussion about certain… things. His and Eugénie's relationship had always been slightly messed up and unstable; so Cavalcanti hadn't really affected things much in _that_ respect.

Their room was an ample size with two single beds; it was not as lavishly furnished as the rest of the apartments, but then he hadn't expected a guest suite to be. He laid down his cases on one of the beds, and with his apologies, left Maximilien unpacking and returned to look for Eugenie.

As he had half expected, she was gone from the drawing room when he re-entered the area.

He wandered down the hallway leading out from the opposite side of the room, the walls covered in a dark blue design - truthfully, Albert thought that it gave the corridor a rather oppressive feel, and it didn't help his resolve to find Eugénie one bit. He slowed to a halt and turned around, glancing from door to door in an attempt to work out which was hers; he regretted not taking note of where she had gone before, as he had absolutely no desire to accidentally walk in on Madame Danglars.

Thankfully, he was saved from the potential embarrassment by suddenly noticing that the door at the end was open ajar, and warm, bright light streamed out from between the crack. Steeling himself, Albert took a deep breath and forced himself to get to the door, and knock after only moment's hesitation.

"Come in!" A familiar voice called from within, slightly muffled by the distance. Albert found himself fidgeting slightly, trying to find something to occupy his hands; in the end, he settled for just shoving them in his pockets so he could try and concentrate on remembering what he had planned to say.

…of course, really, he had no idea of what he was going to say or even how he was going to broach the subject. He pushed open the door, and found Eugénie sitting across the room at her dressing table, hair brush in hand.

"Um, Eugénie, look…" he cast around for words desperately, eyes studying the floor, the bed, the lampshade - anything that wasn't the blonde girl nearby. She seemed to take pity on him and stood up, walking over until she passed him by, tugging the chair that was sitting by her desk over until it too was near her dressing table.

"Albert…sit down, you're making me nervous with all your pacing." Until she said that, he realised he hadn't had any idea he'd been doing it - which only heightened his embarrassment, and stained his cheeks a deeper pink. "So… what is it?" She turned casually back to her mirror, reaching for a comb to work her hair through again.

He couldn't help but feel a brief flash of annoyance at how casually Eugénie was acting; her habit of feigning indifference was something he had never liked, and he _knew_ that there were things left unresolved… and things that - he at least - wanted making clear.

If she was going to be unhelpful…well, two could play at that game.

"What do you think?" Inwardly, he grimaced. Were they destined to always return to bickering like ten year olds? Eugénie stilled at the irritation in his voice, but did not look at him, and instead seemed determined to take great interest in rearranging everything on her dressing table. Perfume bottle -- here, hair brush -- over there, necklace -- right on this side…

Eugénie had her heavy red curtains drawn, so the only light in the room came from the overhead electric lights; it gave everything an odd sort of glow, but made Eugénie look very drawn, and almost ill.

"All right… fine…" he stood up abruptly his chair falling back with a loud clatter as it hit the floor. She looked up at him in shock, while he faced her seriously. "It's… it's about before. You know, with Camille. You made certain… assumptions, and I think--"

"Oh!" she interrupted him, eyes widening slightly, "Albert, about that… it's okay, isn't it? You know I don't mind--"

"No!" This time it was his turn to interrupt, gesturing helplessly in exasperation, "Eugénie, that's not the point at all. You -- you completely misunderstood, and jumped to conclusions, and… well. There was never anything between Franz and me; you should know that of all people…"

He trailed off, picking up his fallen chair and slumping down into the seat. Eugénie was merely watching him, expression unreadable.

"But, in retrospect," she began quietly, studying his reaction, "it's just… he loved you Albert, so much. You must have---"

"No." He interrupted her again, but this time softly, sadly. "I only… I only realised last night after you…" He bit his lower lip thoughtfully, looking up to see Eugénie watching him uncertainly. "I can't believe I was… that blind. But Franz didn't… didn't want me to know."

Surprisingly, that realisation hurt; that Franz hadn't wanted him to know. _What did you think my reaction would be? That I'd hate you, or laugh at you? But I could never…_

"I've been an idiot," he said swallowing painfully, "but, you know, Eugénie… it wouldn't have changed much, not really. And, as for Camille…" Albert raised an eyebrow and half shrugged, "I can assure you that, while I do count him as a friend; he's just that."

Eugénie's eyes suddenly looked amused, and she returned his shrug. "Oblivious as ever, isn't that right, Albert? I'll admit, I didn't see much… but… the way he was looking at you - it just, it reminded me a little of Franz, that's all." But she reached out, expression suddenly sober, and took his hand. "Oh, Albert… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed things without giving you time to explain."

Albert finally cracked a smile and gently squeezed her hand, "Eugénie… you say I'm oblivious, but how could you not have realised? I know it was a few years ago, but what happened at the airport…it wasn't… I mean… that was what I had been hoping for." He raised his gaze and found her watching him with a small smile on her face, and he blushed a little. "Look, I'm awful at things like this -- I just meant--"

But whatever he had meant, Albert never managed to say. Eugénie had leaned forward suddenly, covering his lips with her own. The kiss was short, but tender, and when she pulled away, it made Albert's heart ache to see the happiness visible in her face; an expression he hadn't seen her with at all recently.

"Eugénie…" he stood up and pulled her up too, bringing her close to him and holding her tightly, as though he'd never get another chance.

It was different, now, than it had been before. He had been sixteen then; woefully confused and still working through his tangled thoughts on Franz and the Count - oh, especially the Count. It pained him to admit it - especially now - but in the light of their conversation… he knew now that he had been in love with the Count. He turned his head slightly and rested his cheek against Eugénie's hair. He could smell the faint, fragrant scent of her shampoo, and it gave him an indescribable sense of comfort.

But that… that had been _then_, and that had been different. During his travels, he'd had a lot of time to think about everything he'd done, and try and analyse it detachedly. He'd been trying to escape from who he really was; he'd certainly grown up a little in the process, but in the end… he really was just the same boy who'd run off to Luna with his best friend all those years ago.

The Count had fascinated him; he was mysterious, charismatic, intelligent… everything Albert admired. He had meant… so much to him; and Albert knew that, at one point, he would have thrown everything away without a second thought, if only it had made the Count happy.

Eugénie pulled back a little and kissed him on the cheek, blonde hair tickling his nose. But… this person, this girl: _she_ was the most important thing in the world to him now; had become so without him even realising it. He felt his chest tighten uncomfortably as worry welled up once more. He wanted to do everything possible to try and keep her safe, because he refused to risk losing her: Eugénie was in danger no matter what she claimed. He had already almost lost her to Cavalcanti once…

"I…" Albert leaned forward and touched his forehead gently to hers, blue eyes serious. "Eugénie, promise me that you'll be careful. I know that you feel somehow responsible, but please… don't do anything reckless."

She tilted her head and gave him an strange smile. "I do think about the consequences of my actions, you know." She lifted her hand and knocked gently on the side of his head, "unlike certain people around here I could mention!" He pretended to look insulted while she laughed and took a step back, studying him. "You know, Albert - you may yet become a responsible young man."

He raised an eyebrow at the dubious nature of that compliment, but then before he knew it she was hugging him again, voice muffled slightly by his shirt.

"You should go back to Maximilien, you know, he'll be wondering where you are." She looked up, eyes peeping out from beneath her dishevelled hair. "And we all need some sleep, especially if tomorrow's the day we've got planned for action."

He nodded, and reluctantly parted from her.

As it turned out, however - perhaps as could only be expected - things didn't quite work out according to plan.


	8. Chapter 8

It was barely gone three am in the dead of night; the sky was still pitch black, and the stars were faintly shining, when Albert was suddenly and unpleasantly awoken by a panicked scream. He sat up instantly, horribly disoriented for a moment before realising that Maximilien, too, had been awakened and was leaping out of bed.

Their eyes met only for a split second across the darkened room before they were both out the door, making it into the drawing room just in time to hear the front door slam. Silence reigned.

"I'll follow, you check here," Maximilien said shortly, expression tense as he ran for the door, not wanting to risk wasting a second. Albert's heart was beating furiously, and he felt gripped by an icy hand of fear. The almost familiar, sick feeling of dread came to him as he began the walk to Eugénie's room. In an oddly detached, painful way, he knew that there was no point hurrying, because she wouldn't be there.

He paused at the doorway to her room, eyes frozen on the scattered mess which was so totally at odds with the neat, tidy area he had seen only a few hours earlier. He felt his fists clench in white-hot anger as he saw her bedcovers strewn on the floor. Evidently Eugénie had not gone quietly; a chair was knocked over and almost blocking the door, and the few belongings she had arranged on her bedside table were carelessly lying all over the carpet. He dashed to Madame Danglars' room; also deserted.

His breathing had quickly become fast and shallow, so he forced himself to slow down a bit; think clearly. Right.

Hardly a second later, and he was sprinting after Maximilien and down the many stairs. He reached the bottom and burst out into the cold night air just as he saw Maximilien turn the key in the car, revving the engine. Without hesitating he vaulted over the side door landing into the seat next to his friend just as the car burst into life and sped forwards up the road.

The topless car hurtled forward at a breakneck speed, Maximilien's expression hard and determined, following the small vehicle in the distance which Albert could now only just make out. The wind was bitterly cold, attacking his face and hair, and forcing him to notice that, in fact, both he and Maximilien were still wearing their nightclothes. But, it couldn't be helped. The streets were dark and mostly deserted; but from time to time there was still the occasional group of drunken revellers, still out and trying to celebrate 'til morning broke.

Suddenly, the car in front of them disappeared, and Maximilien swore, swerving around a corner to try and find where they'd gone. Nothing.

The chill was making Albert shiver violently, and he felt sick with worry and anger, desperately scanning the street ahead for any sign of their target. But it was too late; they had vanished.

It took them nearly twenty minutes of driving around urgently in the darkness, speeding up whenever they saw the lights of another car in the distance, only to realise that it wasn't the same one they were looking for. Albert was scanning the streets, almost beginning to despair at having lost them, when Maximilien suddenly gave a shout.

"There!" Thankfully Maximilien had managed to get a good look at the car they were pursuing before Albert had appeared and joined him, because he was pointing ahead, one hand still on the steering wheel, at a car which looked as though it had been abandoned on the side of the road in front of a row of tall, shabby houses. "It's that one."

They swerved over to the left and pulled up behind the car, immediately jumping out as soon as they'd slowed to a stop. All of the houses looked dark except one; light flickered at one of the windows, and Albert could have sworn he saw a familiar face appear there for a second, before disappearing.

"That has to be it." Maximilien nodded grimly and together they crossed through the small, overgrown garden which lined the pathway up to the entrance. Surprisingly, the heavy front door swung open without any resistance; there was little in the hallway apart from a tall, dark staircase which led upwards.

Albert wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting to find when, after what seemed like a lifetime, he and Maximilien finally burst through the battered wooden door at the top of the stairs... but he knew it certainly hadn't been the odd, unpleasant scene which actually greeted their eyes. The room was reasonably large, and was - for the most part - completely devoid of furniture. It was windowless, with only two doors leading elsewhere, and the darkness was uncomfortably quiet. In the center of the room, though, there was a large dining table; dark lacquered wood with several lit candles spaced evenly out along the middle.

Positioned around the table, there were four chairs. Opposite the doorway which Albert and Maximilien were standing in, horror stuck, Valentine and Eugénie sat on the far side of the table, facing them. Their arms were bound behind them to the backs of the chairs, and their legs, too. Their mouths were gagged, and Valentine looked utterly terrified, while Eugénie, despite the fear in her eyes, looked fiercely angry. They were not alone. At the head of one end of the table, near Eugénie, sat Madame Danglars in a similar position - though unlike the others, she remained un-gagged. Her head had fallen forward so her chin nearly rested on her chest, and there were dark streaks down her cheeks from tears mixing with her makeup. The only sign that she was still alive was the occasional hitching breath which escaped her, as her shoulders shook. At the other end, opposite Madame Danglars, sat Villefort. He was almost expressionless, as though lost in thought, and was almost deathly pale.

Maximilien made a convulsive movement towards Valentine, but was stopped by the sudden movement of someone out of the shadows from the back of the room.

"You..." Albert could barely speak, almost trembling with anger as he saw the familiar blond hair and face catch the flickering light of the candles as he came forward.

"I'm flattered... you remember me." Cavalcanti's voice was silken, but as he leaned forward and placed his hands on the table in between Eugénie and Valentine, his eyes were wide and vicious. Albert and Maximilien started forward, but stopped abruptly as Cavalcanti reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, tossing it carelessly in his hand. "I really wouldn't... move, if I were you," he said casually, smiling as the trailed the barrel of the gun down Valentine's cheek, finally bringing it to rest - not on her chest, but on her stomach. Maximilien's face was anguished, and Albert could tell he was barely controlling his panic as tears began to roll silently from Valentine's eyes.

Cavalcanti looked as though he hadn't eaten properly in a long time; his face was slightly haggard and his clothes and hair were unkempt - a far cry from the handsome aristocratic young man he had professed to being so long ago. His breathing was rough and uneven - though he appeared to be in control, it seemed to Albert that his insanity was a pervasive background presence, making itself known through his somewhat syncopated speech pattern and wild eyes. He tugged viciously on a strand of Valentine's hair - Maximilien choked furiously, horribly tense and ready to snap at any moment. But, it seemed, Cavalcanti was moving on to Madame Danglars. Albert felt sick; he and Maximilien could do little but watch as Cavalcanti toyed with his hostages, always keeping the gun trained carefully on someone.

"Now, mother... aren't you glad to see me?" Cavalcanti was practically simpering, moving to stand behind her and leaning down, his head close to hers. Hearing his voice, her head shot up, eyes confused and spilling over with tears.

"A...Andrea?" She finally focused on him, a strange smile hesitantly appearing, and he nodded, burying a hand in her hair.

"That's right. You've always loved... me, haven't you, mother?" his hand slipped down from her hair, onto the side of her neck. "It wasn't your fault... so you're going to stay with me... you've always wanted that, haven't you. I could tell, you wanted me... always... you wanted me to come - you must have, or you wouldn't have let me in..."

At that, Eugénie cast a tortured expression of disbelief towards her mother. Albert felt his heart skip a beat - so it was true. Madame Danglars...this wasn't right... they should have been able to trust her. They should have realised, really, that her guilt complex about what had happened to Cavalcanti, no, Benedetto, went deeper than they had thought.

"Ohh, Andrea...I'm... I'm sorry..." It was painful to watch; Madame Danglars looked simultaneously enraptured and terrified - Cavalcanti looked victorious. His hand slowly slid down further, inside her dress, and Albert couldn't help but almost turn away. Abruptly, her expression changed, and she almost wailed, eyes desperately panicked, "no, no, Andrea, no..."

"Oh," Cavalcanti sounded surprised, almost lost, but then the smirk returned. "But, mother... that's not what you said before. You _begged_ for this; I called... you mother, and you told me to call you Victoria. Don't you remember? We had such fun..." A tortured sob escaped her then, and Cavalcanti brought his hand back up to stroke her cheek. "Don't worry, mother... it will just be you...and me... and dear Eugénie, of course." He then stood up, moving away, seeming to almost immediately lose interest in the woman he left weeping behind him.

"Eugénie...sweet Eugénie..." he pressed the cold barrel of the gun against the back of her neck, and she stiffened, trying not to show her fear. He rested his chin on top of her head, his long blond hair falling down and mingling with hers. It was an uncomfortable thought, but Albert wondered how no-one had noticed just how much they actually looked like siblings. He felt his skin crawl; it was all he could do to stop himself from rushing forwards and ripping Cavalcanti off her - at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to bury his fist in the side of Cavalcanti's delicate looking face. "Yes... that's right," he continued conversationally, as though she was actually responding to him despite the gag filling her mouth, "you take after your mother... you and I had a lot of fun together too, didn't we?" He ignored her glare, and tapped one finger thoughtfully against his cheek.

Albert bit his lip, so hard it almost bled: having to watch the way Eugénie couldn't help but tremble whenever Cavalcanti touched her was more than he could bear. But she didn't cry, and through it all, he was fiercely proud of her.

"And to think, you were so very nearly almost mine..." he trailed off as he said this, eyes narrowing as he looked up at Albert, pulling back the safety of the gun with an ominous click, and pressing it harder into her neck.

"Eugénie--!" Her name escaped Albert almost involuntarily, panic overwhelming him as he realised that Cavalcanti would not let go of Albert disrupting the wedding so easily. He started forward, one hand outstretched, and saw her eyes widen in fear as the gun left her neck.

A second later he was on the floor, clutching his leg and gritting his teeth in agony. "Ah..gh..." His eyes were burning, screwed shut in pain, and for a while all he was aware of was the crippling hot sensation in his thigh, and the warm sticky liquid seeping out between his fingers. Albert's breathing was ragged and heavy, and after a moment, he opened his eyes again and saw Maximilien poised over him - but frozen, with Cavalcanti still pointing the gun in their direction.

"I wouldn't… recommend you help him, really." Cavalcanti's expression was cold, but then a split second later he was grinning widely once more and gesturing with the gun. "Please, step back."

Albert noticed distantly that his leg seemed to be going numb, and with difficulty he looked up, feeling nauseous. "It's not...worth it; I'm all right, Max... stay back--"

"_What did you do!_"

Albert looked up in shock, recognising the voice even through the anger of the scream. A figure, who must have been lurking in the room beyond, suddenly darted forwards past Cavalcanti and around the table to crouch in front of Albert, expression horrified and pained.

"C...Camille?"

The darkness of the room cast heavy shadows over the young man's face, but there was no doubt about it. The driver was hovering over Albert where he lay, and helped him gently up into a sitting position. Cavalcanti seemed to be watching in vague amusement, with an arm draped over Eugénie's shoulders.

"You said nothing would happen to him!" Albert blinked, trying to clear his head and ignore the deep, distracting ache in his leg. He couldn't quite… he wasn't… wait, what was going on?

"Camille… what are you _doing_ here?" he said with some effort, drawing in a deep breath and leaning back, placing his weight on his elbows. A delighted laugh sounded from across the room, and Albert looked up to see Cavalcanti watching him with pleasure.

"But why do you think, Albert? He--"

"Andrea, shut _up_!" The cry slipped from his lips reflexively, and anything else he was about to say caught in his throat as he realised what he'd done. He started to back away from Albert as the wounded man turned to him with incredulous eyes.

"_Andrea_?" Albert said quietly, his voice hoarse as he gazed at Camille's hunted expression, barely able to believe what he was hearing. "What… what have you done?"

"N - nothing!" Camille sounded frightened and turned pleading eyes on Albert, "I just -- I just wanted to--"

"--It was all for you, dear Monsieur de Morcerf, " Cavalcanti interrupted, tone mocking as he eyed the two of them, focusing finally on Albert.

Albert turned to look at Camille in confusion once more, but the dark-haired young man was refusing to meet his eyes. "What does he mean?" he asked quietly; when at last Camille turned to him, he as faced with a distraught, broken expression.

"I…" He trailed off, and obviously couldn't bring himself to continue, backing away from Albert until he found himself against the corner of the room, sliding down to the floor in defeat.

"Oh, fine." Cavalcanti sighed, sounding almost bored. "I was simply assisting him, that's all. For whatever reason… he wanted you to himself. I wanted Eugénie to myself; worked quite well, really… it would have been much more irritating trying to do all of this by myself, don't you think?"

Albert was stunned, and sat watching the slightly shaking form of Camille hunched in the corner; he looked so much younger than his nineteen years - and Albert found that though he felt empty, and that he felt betrayed… he did not really feel angry. Cavalcanti had just managed to find a pawn he could easily manipulate; if anything else, Albert felt pity.

"Cavalcanti…" Albert narrowed his blue eyes, voice bitter. "What is it that you _want_?"

"Hmm, what do I… what do I want…" he twirled the gun around casually on his finger, before his expression hardened, and he pointed it directly in the face of the previously ignored captive. "I want my family, and I want justice." He moved away from Eugénie and approached Villefort, who looked up at him blankly. "But then, you'd know all about justice, wouldn't you, father?"

Cavalcanti dug the barrel of the gun into Villefort's cheek, frowning slightly as he did not respond. "My father left me to die. Oh no, actually, rather - my father tried to murder me, unbeknownst to my mother." This elicited a low sob from Madame Danglars, which Cavalcanti ignored and continued. "It's because of him I had a poor, filthy childhood. It's because of him I became a petty criminal, when I should have been leading the life of an aristocrat. This is just… justice."

Valentine made a muffled kind of noise at that, straining at her bonds and watching her father with a fearful desperation. Cavalcanti reached out with his other hand and pinched Valentine's cheek, looking down at her haughtily. "Oh, don't worry," he leaned closer to her face and smirked at Maximilien's expression, "you'll be joining your father soon enough. After all, you've led the kind of life I was suppose to have, and…well. That's really not fair now, is it?" As if to punctuate his point he casually backhanded her across the face, anticipating Maximilien's roar of rage and subsequent movement by training the gun directly on his forehead, and taking off the safety for the second time. Cavalcanti gave a strange smile, eyes not quite focused. "Please, do go ahead."

Albert saw tears of rage spring to Maximilien's eyes as a dark red mark began to appear on Valentine's cheek; she sat with her head lowered, hair falling over her face. He winced as shooting pains began in his leg again, the congealing blood making his trousers stick to his skin. He glanced around as he shifted painfully to try and sit up properly, and suddenly noticed out of the corner of his eye, that Camille had vanished.

Albert was at a loss. What were they supposed to do? What had he and Maximilien been thinking, anyway, charging in here without even considering what they might do afterwards? From everything he had said it appeared that Cavalcanti was planning on killing Valentine and Villefort anyway, and unarmed as they were, currently it seemed like there was very little they could do to stop him. Besides, Albert thought bitterly, he'd already managed to get himself incapacitated - so as much as he hated to admit it, he was completely at a loss for ideas.

Albert couldn't help but wonder how long Cavalcanti's vanity would hold out - if he continued at this rate, he'd be making speeches at them all night. But on the other hand, if that helped to give them more time to try and work something out, then it could only be a good thing.

Suddenly, seemingly without provocation, Villefort exploded into a torrent of garbled, unintelligible words; the gag ensuring that any possible sense that might have been made of them was lost. He strained forwards, mouth twisted into a grimace and eyes wild, seemingly staring into nothing. Cavalcanti looked faintly surprised, and merely watched with interest until Villefort finally seemed to calm down. Evidently, he had not been around for one of Villefort's episodes before.

"Hmm," Cavalcanti leaned over and peered at Villefort's face, examining him curiously, "it seems you're even more messed up in the head than I thought!" And he laughed delightedly, twirling the gun once more.

He suddenly stopped, stiffening as a slight noise was heard from downstairs. Cavalcanti muttered something to himself and then frowned, looking back up at Albert.

"Well, now it's time for you both to go. You should have… realised that it wouldn't be the best idea to come here….and I _don't _appreciate you interfering with my family!" He raised the gun and levelled it with Albert's head.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Albert couldn't help but notice the way the shadows played over everything; the way the flickering candlelight illuminated Eugenie's tired, scared face. The way Valentine sat awkwardly, her advanced pregnancy making it impossible for her to sit normally while bound. Madame Danglars still wept, and Monsieur de Villefort glared at the table.

When the shot rang out, though, it was Cavalcanti who screamed. He fell awkwardly to the ground, the right side of his shirt quickly becoming saturated with crimson blood. Standing behind him in the darkened doorway, still holding a gun at arms length and shaking violently, was Camille. Cavalcanti's breath came in heavy, pained gasps; he clutched at his side with one hand while he groped around on the floor, searching for his gun, with the other.

After a moment of stunned disbelief, Maximilien sprung into action and rushed forwards, kicking Cavalcanti's gun away from him, before retrieving it for himself. He stood above the wounded blond man, expression fierce but distraught, pointing the gun in his face.

Even now, Cavalcanti gave a shaky laugh. His eyes were half lidded, but he made no attempt to move or escape. A few moments later, the battered door banged open and several gendarmes rushed in, headed by a familiar face.

"D'Anton…" Albert said, voice breaking in a mixture of surprise and relief. The older man nodded, expression serious as he took in the situation. Cavalcanti was quickly surrounded and moved over to the side of the room, while Maximilien and several of the other officers hastened to untie the captives.

Albert swore under his breath, immensely irritated that he couldn't move to help at all. Someone was hovering near him with something that looked like bandages, but he waved them off in annoyance and leaned as far to the side as he could, to try and see past the gendarmes to catch a glimpse of any of his friends.

A moment later, though, he saw Eugénie push through the men around him and practically fall on him, arms tight around his torso as she buried her face in his shoulder. He tentatively returned the embrace, but winced from the almost unbearable pressure it was putting on his wounded thigh. She abruptly sat back, realising, and frantically apologised as he shook his head.

"Eugénie…" he reached out and touched a hand to her pale cheek. "I'm…" he found his throat was tight and forced himself to say the words. "I'm so… so glad you're all right." She nodded, eyes shining with unshed tears, smiling fiercely at him as she held onto his hand tightly.

"I'm sorry…" she said quietly, "I promised you I'd be careful… and look where that go me." He brushed a thumb over her bitter smile, and frowned.

"No, Eugénie; it wasn't your fault" He pulled her close to his side, painfully forcing his leg out the way.

"You really need your leg treating, Monsieur," the man who had been bothering him earlier said apologetically, and Eugénie nodded, standing up.

"He's right - I'm going to go and check on Valentine and my mother." She ruffled his hair and gave a quiet smile, before turning and leaving him to face the medic. The man looked over his wound carefully, frowning.

"You should really get to a hospital with this, you know…" Albert groaned, and the medic pulled out a small portable electronic scanner, which he waved over the bloody mess on Albert's trousers. "Hmm, the bullet's not actually in too deep; I may be able to do something here."

Albert nodded gratefully; having to go into hospital was not exactly highest on his list of priorities. From where he was sitting, he could just about see Camille, who was kneeling in the doorway where he had shot Cavalcanti; he still looked terrified and kept glancing around himself in disbelief, while a concerned looking gendarme kept trying to talk to him, only to be ignored. The man examining his leg noticed where he was looking, and nodded. "Yeah, that's the young man who put the call through to us - d'Anton had managed to track Cavalcanti to this area, but if it hadn't been for him letting us pinpoint you…" he trailed off, and shrugged lightly. "Well best not to think about that, eh?" Albert didn't reply.

It was hard to take in, really. It was impossible to deny that Camille had betrayed him, whatever his intentions - though Albert felt the familiar pangs of guilt that it was, in fact, to do with him. Almost _because_ of him; had he taken Camille too much for granted? It was true that technically Camille had been his employee… but he had always felt that they had become more than that; friends, even.

And perhaps, he realised, maybe _that _was the problem.

The medic rummaged around in his bag and took out a small tubular object, and pressed it against Albert's bare skin where it seemed to stab him and let out a slow hiss. He didn't even flinch, though, as the sensation was nothing compared to the pain he'd been enduring prior. The pain which was, pleasantly enough, now receding. Albert looked away with a grimace as the medic began to probe into the leg wound with some other electronic instrument; he couldn't really feel it anymore, but it was still unpleasant to watch.

Madame Danglars, though now unbound, was still sitting down - hands clasped together while Eugénie attempted to comfort her. The young woman was looking more and more worried, though, as her mother continued refusing to acknowledge her. He shifted and tried to peer around the medic working on his leg in an effort to find Valentine and Maximilien; the latter was holding his wife close, and Albert didn't think he'd ever seen such a fervent expression of relief and happiness before. Villefort was nearby, also still sitting down as there was not a wheelchair to hand, with one of the gendarmes trying fruitlessly to elicit some kind of response from him.

And he could well have been imagining things - but for a split second, Albert thought he simply saw an expression of pure sadness flicker across Villefort's usually stoic countenance.

The darkness still lent the room an ominous feel, even though, really, it was all mostly over. It was heightened more by the fact that he knew it was dawn already; the back room evidently had a window, because he could see a stream of light shining down onto the ground somewhere behind Camille.

"There, done." The medic announced, binding up Albert's leg efficiently. "I'm afraid you won't be able to walk normally for a while yet - thankfully it missed the bone, but you'd still better get used to walking with crutches!"

Albert looked down in surprise; he'd been completely unaware of what the man had been doing. He broke into a tired grin, though, and nodded. "Thank you." He yelped a little as the medic suddenly stood up, pulling Albert up with him.

"Here, lean on me," the man said patiently, as Albert draped an arm over the other's shoulders and used him for a support, as he balanced on his good left leg. "Right, and now we have to navigate those stairs!"

"W-what? We're leaving?" Albert twisted around hurriedly, looking for his friends

"_Yes_… please calm down, Monsieur; all the others are coming too - but we can't stay here."

Grudgingly, Albert acquiesced, hobbling with assistance towards the door. He glanced behind him a final time, and afterwards, he could never quite banish from his mind the strange smile that Cavalcanti gave him from where he sat quietly on the floor.


End file.
